


You Don't Think You Deserve To Be Saved?

by My_OTP_is_Better



Series: Because We're Family [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels are Dicks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Coitus Interruptus, Dean Has Abandonment Issues, Dirty Talk, Domestic Disputes, Established Relationship, Fallen Angels, Fights, Guilty Castiel, Human Castiel, Identity Issues, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Men of Letters Bunker, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Permanent Injury, Plothole Fill, Porn With Plot, Sam hates p.d.a., Season/Series 09, Slow To Update, Somnophilia, Supportive Sam, Switching, Top Dean, hearing impairment, new Winchester family feels, secret keeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_OTP_is_Better/pseuds/My_OTP_is_Better
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Free Will (and Kevin!) invite an old friend back to the bunker to get to the bottom of this "angels falling" business. Once they get the information they need, a new plan of attack will be hatched. But before that can happen, Dean and Cas have to get over their issues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rated E for language, gratuitous sex, and some violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Sup, bitches?"

**Author's Note:**

> Usual Disclaimer: I own nothing! I do not own Supernatural, or any of its characters; they are the brain-children of Kripke et. al. I do not endorse or make money from any brand mentioned herein. 
> 
> With that out of the way, let me just say enjoy!

The morning after so many important firsts, Dean woke to find himself completely cleaned up. Cas must have done it while he was sleeping. He noticed a slip of paper on the pillow next to him. He forced his eyes to focus so he could read the former-angel’s nearly indecipherable scrawl: “Making Breakfast” was all it said.

As he sat up, he suddenly realized he ached all over; his arms felt heavy, his thighs were stiff, and even his neck felt sore. He stood up slowly, and not that he would ever admit it, but the same sort of headache he got from crying was creeping across his forehead. He stepped into a pair of boxers and made his way to the bathroom.

After relieving himself, he washed his hands and gazed in the mirror. Despite feeling a little crummy, he looked, well… _amazing_. The hardened scowl that had become his default in recent years had softened. His eyes shone brightly, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His lips themselves were full and pink, as if Cas had been kissing them in his sleep.

He backed up, gazing at his torso before twisting to see his back as well. He had several small bruises along his hipbones, where Cas’ fingers had held him. He touched the purple spots, but they didn’t hurt. However, Dean realized they were a neon sign he’d been fucked, and vowed to find a shirt soon. He also noticed a rash where Cas’ stubble had grazed him along the small of his back. The man felt like a walking brillo pad most of the time, but looked so sexy with the shadow that Dean rarely nagged him to shave unless he got closer to the beard that “hippie 2014 Cas” had sported. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out his razor.

After a quick shave and shrugging on a shirt, he was at his doorway when he realized he was wearing Cas’ boxers. He changed into a pair of his flannel PJ bottoms and staggered into the kitchen.

Cas was bent over the counter, chopping fruit on a cutting board. Dean poured himself a cup of coffee and eyed Cas appraisingly: his hair (like Dean’s) stuck out in a million different directions from sleep and sex; he wore a pair of flannel bottoms slung low, the faded finger bruises on his hips mirroring Dean’s fresh ones; taking a page from his book, Cas was shirtless, apron tied around him instead. Dean noticed Cas’ ever-present coffee mug was nowhere to be seen, and poured him a cup.

“Morning,” he greeted, coming up behind him and sliding Cas the mug.

Cas laid the knife on the cutting board, resting his hands on the counter as Dean nuzzled into his neck. “Good morning,” he murmured.

Dean kissed his jaw gently, hands coming around to pull him in closer. Those same hands wandered down, grabbing ahold of Cas and stroking when they heard a loud throat-clearing from the doorway. Dean quickly let go and stepped clear, spinning around to face his slightly traumatized-looking brother.

“Come on guys, not in the _kitchen_!”

“Kill-joy,” Dean responded, pulling out Cas’ chair. While Sam poured himself a cup of coffee Dean sat down, wincing quietly.

Sam turned, and was pulling out his own chair when he remarked, “Isn’t that Cas’ chair?”

“Is it?” Dean looked down, pretending to be surprised. “You want it back?” he asked.

“No, that’s fine. I’m cooking.”

Dean sat sipping his coffee as Cas made omelets. Once he’d plated up the eggs, bacon, and cut fruit, Kevin wandered in saying, “I think something’s wrong with the door.”

Sam’s phone buzzed and he checked it, before leaving the room quickly. When he came back, he was standing next to Charlie. "Sup, bitches?" she greeted.

“Uh…” Kevin began, looking at Sam confusedly.

“Right! I forgot – you haven’t met her yet. Kevin, this is Charlie. She’s-”

“Awesome,” Dean supplied, grinning.

“Kevin? As in Kevin Tran, advanced placement, prophet of the Lord?”

“Yeah… that’s me,” he replied, looking somewhat embarrassed by Charlie’s gushing.

“I was advanced placement too,” she piped up, all smiles.

Cas stood at the counter, sipping his coffee and squinting at her. Sam noticed and seemed to remember himself: “Oh and Charlie, this is Cas.” He gestured to the former-angel and Charlie’s smile turned wry.

“Cas… Castiel?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, gesturing a greeting with his coffee cup.

She took a few steps closer, so she could see him more clearly. “I was right, Dean. He _is_ dreamy.”

Dean chuckled a bit into his cup, and Sam grabbed a folding chair from the corner of the kitchen. “Please sit, eat. You’ve been driving for five hours straight, right?” Sam asked, concerned.

But… old super-computer!” she protested, as she edged closer to the table.

“Bacon first, hacking after,” Dean insisted, gesturing to the spread of food. She sat on the proffered chair between Sam and Dean, and took the cup of coffee that Sam handed her. She took a strip of bacon and chewed thoughtfully, her eyebrows rising when Cas turned around, revealing his bare back.

“So shirts are optional in the bunker?” she joked.

Cas turned, realizing he was being addressed. “Oh… I suppose so. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Psshh, no I was just teasing. I don’t even _like_ guys that way.” Sam caught the small deflated look Kevin suddenly got, but didn’t say anything.

Cas’ expression, however, remained unchanged. “Yes, I believe Dean referred to you as the ‘LARPing Lesbian’.”

Charlie gave Dean a look of approval, and nodded. “Guilty.” She popped a strawberry into her mouth, and looked around interestedly as Cas sat down at the table, apron now folded over the back of his chair. As her gaze settled fully onto Dean for the first time that morning, her eyebrows rose in amusement. “Dean, did you start moisturizing or something?”

“What? _No_ ,” he answered, confused.

“You just look _really_ good.”

Uh… thanks. All right, subject change,” he ordered, noticing the strange way Sam was looking at him.

She reached for an orange section and asked, “So what’s an angel doing in the Batcave?”

Cas suddenly looked very sad and couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m no longer an angel. My grace was… stolen.”

She looked around: Kevin was pouring himself another cup of coffee, in no big hurry to get back to the table. Sam was cutting up the remaining pieces of his omelet, his eyes resolutely on his plate. Dean was looking between Charlie and Cas worriedly. “This may be a stupid question, but what’s grace?”

“It’s like an angel’s mojo – it gives him his powers,” Dean responded, as Cas took a sip of coffee listlessly.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, realizing what a sore subject this was. “I didn’t know.”

Cas was quiet for a few more minutes, and then looked at her. “It’s … all right. I’m adapting,” he answered and shot Dean a small smile. He took another sip of coffee and added, “I’m learning how to hunt so I may be of use.”

“Hey, me too!” she exclaimed. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she whispered, “Oh, _frack_ …”

“You WHAT?” Dean asked, anger rising in his voice.

“Just a little bit… Haunted comic store in Wichita.”

“I don’t like it,” Dean stated, stern and overprotective.

“He doesn’t like a lot of things,” Cas offered and Charlie cracked up.

“BOTH of you, shooting range after this,” Dean ordered, brow furrowed.

 

Cas unloaded six shots into the head of the paper target, while Charlie managed to make four straight into the heart. Dean shot into their targets with the Nerf gun Kevin had stashed in the corner of the room, making a “B” on Cas’ target and a “B-” on Charlie’s.

“Why does he get a higher score than me?” She eyed the two skeptically for a moment. “Is it because you sleep with him?”

By this time, Dean had stopped reacting around people when they inevitably guessed he and Cas were together. “Sam told you,” he asked, more a statement than a question, and shook his head.

“No, he didn’t. _Hello?!_ _Gay-dar!_ ”

“Right,” Dean answered, lips turned down in a look of confused agreement. He grabbed Cas’ hand and pulled him to his side. “Let’s do proper introductions: Charlie, this is Castiel. He’s my gay thing.”

Charlie whooped, catching the reference from the Carver Edlund series. Cas took his hand back and retorted, “I thought we agreed on ‘boyfriend’.” Dean just winked at him, and Cas relaxed, realizing Dean had meant it in jest.

“Anyway, your last two shots didn’t even _hit_ the target. So, ‘B-’. My grades are final.”

“‘Gay-dar’?” Cas asked to no one in particular.

“I like the same sex, so I can tell when others do, too,” Charlie explained, and Cas nodded slowly.

“Why don’t we have that?” Cas asked Dean. Dean just chuckled, and put the nerf gun away.

“You’re too new to being human, Cas. It’s a… gut feeling. I think I’m _starting_ to get it, a little bit.” He took the hand guns from his two apprentices, and checked the safeties. Then he put them away, and made a comment about needing lunch. He left soon after.

 

After the shooting range, Charlie hooked her heavy-duty gaming laptop up to the mainframe to transfer the data. “I don’t know how long this is gonna take… Got a spare room?”

Cas set her up in the bedroom next to Kevin’s, while Dean popped in momentarily to announce he was going on a lunch run. Cas offered to give her a tour of the Men of Letters bunker to pass the time. “So you’ve seen the viewing room, the living room, and the library, and you know where the shower room is,” Cas thought aloud.

“What about you guys? Where do the rest of the men sleep?”

He took her to the hallway that contained Team Free Will’s bedrooms, and pointed to the closed door at the end of the corridor: “That’s Sam’s room. He really hates being bothered.”

“And mine-” he gestured to the one in the middle; Charlie noticed it was sparsely decorated and clean. “Though I don’t spend much time in there…” he remarked.

He popped the door open to the room next to his. A small littering of boxer shorts encircled the unmade bed and the nightstand drawer was pulled open, a length of condoms hanging over the side.

When Cas noticed the bottle of lube on the floor in plain sight, he closed the door quickly. “Please don’t tell Dean I showed you his room,” he entreated, while Charlie just laughed.

“Okay, I won’t. Promise.” He looked visibly relieved and proceeded to show her the dungeon, the armory, and the pantry. “So,” Charlie quipped, “you guys have a lot of sex, huh?” Cas started in response, as he looked around worriedly. “I’m not Sam – I’m not gonna tease Dean about it,” she explained.

He relaxed and replied candidly, “Tons. At first, I didn’t think my human body would be able to withstand it.”

He met Charlie’s eyes, and she smiled at him, remarking, “Ahhh… Honey-moon phase.”

“Oh, we haven’t wed. It’s only been 8 months.”

“It’s a saying,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Wow, you really do take everything literally. I know you’re not hitched though – no rings.” She swung her arms around exaggeratedly and continued, “Besides, if Dean had gotten married without inviting _me_ , I’d have his head.”

“For the record, I’m not actually a homosexual.”

“I know, and neither is Dean. Bi people usually end up together, when indulging in ‘the love that dare not speak its name’.”

“I don’t understand that reference.” Cas squinted at her and cocked his head to the side. Charlie dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Once she recovered, she asked, “So, d’you and Dean have matching bruises?” She gestured to her hips and Cas actually let out a snicker.

“Uh, no. He’s actual a very careful and conscientious lover. But I, uh, ‘like it rough’,” Cas replied, ignoring Charlie's subtle question. Charlie looked flustered for a moment and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well, ‘different strokes for different folks,’ right?” He squinted again and she clapped him on the arm, as they headed towards the library.


	2. Keep it Behind Closed Doors, Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five share a meal, Dean tries some inappropriate touching (again), and Cas makes up his mind on Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, but it felt weird splicing it into the next bit.

 

“So, Charlie… haunted comic store aside, what’ve you been up to?” Sam asked, clapping a large leather book shut.

“Oh, you know… backpacking, shooting range, Moondor. Same ol’, same ol’.” Sam gave a chuckle and Cas wandered off, picking a copy of Shakespeare’s plays off of a nearby table.

Kevin went to get a cup of coffee, realizing another migraine would start soon if he kept up the translation. “Dean gave me a ‘B-’,” she pouted.

“Oh yeah? It must be because he likes you. It took me years to get a ‘B-’.”

“Yeah, but Cas got a ‘B’!”

He chuckled, shrugging as he replied, “Well, he likes Cas better.”

“So… 8 months, huh?”

“Yeah… I’m hoping they’ll settle down soon. They were feeling each other up in the kitchen this morning.” Charlie laughed, snorting.

Her eyes went wide; horrified, she said, “That didn’t just happen.” She scampered from the room, cheeks burning.

 

Soon after, Dean strode down the stairs of the bunker, holding several paper bags. He stopped in front of the long table, and peered in the bags. He began handing them out: “Barbecue for the Twerp… Chicken Caesar salad for Sasquatch…”

He pawed through the remaining bags: “Chicken nuggets and side salad for Lady Moondor… Burger and sweet potato fries for Sweet Cheeks…” He continued to dole out food, while Cas looked around confusedly. Dean shook the bag in front of him and Cas took it, his cheeks growing hot at his new nickname.

“And a bacon cheeseburger and slice of pie for yours truly.” The five moved into the living room, spreading out their food on the table. Cas sat down first, single-mindedly setting his meal on a plate and arranging his napkin. Dean went around, setting Styrofoam cups at each place setting. He sat down to Cas’ right, tucking a napkin into his collar. Charlie sat down on Cas’ left, reaching for condiment packets. Sam sat next to Charlie at the end of the rectangular table. Kevin settled in next to Sam, tasting his soda.

“This isn’t mine,” he announced, pushing it towards the middle of the group.

Everyone tasted their drinks, and Sam made a face. “What IS that?” he asked, switching drinks.

Shrugging, he replied, “Orange soda and iced tea.” He smirked and replied, “Diet coke?”

Taking a sip of his own drink Sam replied, “Shut up.”

“Oh, right!” Dean’s eyes shone mischievously. “You guys don’t know _why_ Sam’s a health nut.”

“Dean…” Sam warned.

“Sammy here used to be chubby,” he revealed, and both Charlie and Kevin’s eyes went wide. “When he was sixteen, I finally let him get a job at a pizza place. Poor little string bean really packed it on. He didn’t shoot up to tree height ‘til a year later.”

“Jerk,” Sam snapped, taking another sip of his diet coke.

“Bitch,” Dean shot back, winking at him.

Charlie and Kevin tried to hold in their laughter, but lost it when they met Sam’s gaze. Cas just sat there disinterestedly, snacking on his sweet potato fries. He’d never understood why humans felt the need to mock each other’s physical appearance.

Dean took this moment of distraction to reach his left hand under the table, and ran it up the inside of Cas’ thigh. Cas’ eyes went wide, but he was able to avoid giving anything away. He opened his legs wider, and busied himself with his hamburger while Dean ran his fingertips over the rapidly-expanding bulge in Cas’ pants. Cas wasn’t wearing underwear under his pajamas and Dean could distinctly feel every ridge and vein under his thumb, the thin fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. His hand crept lower and he fondled Cas’ balls, rolling them gently against his palm. Cas’ breath caught momentarily and Dean froze. He looked from Cas’ face to around the table: Charlie was staring back at him, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Dean regretfully let go, mouthing a “sorry” at Cas for the blue balls he would likely incur. They both ate their burgers quietly, secretly vexed by this new pair of eyes.

 

Later that night, after a “Game of Thrones” marathon the two lay in Dean’s bed talking. Cas rested in the crook of Dean’s arm as Dean absently stroked the man’s dark hair, content. “I like Charlie,” Cas decided and Dean grinned in response.

“I knew you would. She’s great.”

“She’s a very curious person,” he added as an aside.

“Yeah, well, she’s been gone awhile. Did you show her the dungeon? Man, I’m never going to get over the fact that we have a freakin’ dungeon!”

“Yes. She seemed pleased with the tour. She was more interested in our relationship, though.”

“Yeah? Probably just surprised I’m with a dude. Hell, _I’m_ surprised.”

“I confided in her that I like rough sex…”

Dean chuckled; “I’m sure everyone in the bunker knows that by now.”

Cas cleared his throat, his eyes brimming with concern: “But speaking of, was I too rough with you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. A little bruised, but it’s hard not to get carried away… I’ll just cook with my shirt on.”

Visibly relieved, Cas hugged Dean’s chest. “But about that, is it cool if we hold off tonight? If both my ass and my hips are killing me tomorrow, it might be hard to walk.” Cas nodded, and they fell asleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did the show ever say if Charlie was a vegetarian? I don't think she is, but I could be wrong.


	3. "Hurt Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie settles in at the bunker. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas are interrupted again. What happens next is the longest and most confusing fight they've ever had as a couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some fucked up ideas about sex in this chapter (and in a few coming up).

Charlie took to new friendships like a duck to water. Once Kevin recovered from his brief crush on her, they grew close quickly. All their talk of nerdy things NOT supernaturally-related made him feel at ease, like a normal person again. Charlie and Cas also became fast friends. He taught her correct Elizabethan English to enhance her role-playing skills, and she convinced him to watch all of the “cult classics” Dean was always referencing. One night they were curled up on the couch, watching “The Empire Strikes Back” while Cas braided her hair. She reached back, feeling the plait. “How did you get so good at that? Does Sam let you braid his hair?”

“I’m learning my human self is quite dexterous,” he responded, failing to answer the second question.

She giggled and took a sip of tea. “Bet Dean appreciates that,” she said under her breath.

“He does, actually,” he replied, and her fit of giggles renewed.

 

Later that night, Cas and Dean lay in bed stroking each other. “D’you wanna-” Dean began, but was cut off with a gentle bite to his neck. His breath hitched and he rolled onto Cas, pinning him to the bed with his weight. His hands wrapped around Cas’ wrists, holding them above his head as he kissed along his jaw-line. Cas’ cock twitched when Dean leaned forward, putting weight onto his pinned wrists.

“ _More_ ,” Cas begged, canting his hips up. Dean reached off to the side, into the nightstand drawer.

     Cas spread his legs, bending his knees to cage Dean in. Dean leaned back, one of his hands slick. He pressed a finger against Cas’ hole, and it sunk in without resistance. Dean pressed another finger in, drawing a grunt from Cas. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” he teased, slowly moving the digits around.

     “Please,” Cas entreated, clenching when Dean brushed his prostate. Dean continued to stretch him out, kissing his nipples.

     “Just let me open you up,” Dean murmured against his skin, licking at the little droplets of sweat on his neck. “Don’t wanna hurt you…”

     Cas bucked up against his hand, groaning. “I… don’t care,” he panted, moaning when Dean started stroking, “Hurt me.”

     Dean’s hand slowed, and he reached forward, grabbing something from the drawer. He stopped moving his fingers inside of Cas. “What did you say?”

     Cas pushed down against Dean’s hand, trying to get Dean to brush against it again. “I said I don’t care if you hurt me. Hurt me, make me bleed – just _fuck me_.”

     Dean pulled his fingers from Cas’ hole, as the latter gave a whine of protest. As Cas shifted up onto his elbows to watch Dean, he saw the man cleaning his hands with a wipe from the drawer. Cas looked around the bed, but the lube and condoms were nowhere to be seen.

     Dean tossed the wipe into the trashcan on the side of the bed, and said finally, “That’s it.”

     “ _What’s_ it?” Cas asked, even more confused when Dean shifted from his position near Cas to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath, and picked his underwear up from the floor, before stepping into them.

     He stood up, and turned to look at Cas. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I am _not_ going to be part of it.” His eyebrows were knit in worry, but his tone was firm.

As he began to walk towards the door, Cas asked, “Where are you going?”

Dean sighed, and looked over his shoulder at Cas, his hand on the doorknob. “ _I’m_ going to go take a cold shower. I think _you_ should sleep in your own room tonight.”

“We were in the middle of something, Dean,” Cas pointed out, incredulous.

“Yeah, we _were_. But if you need it that bad, there are toys under the bed.” With that, he opened the door and left. Cas stared at the door for a long time in shock.

What just happened?

When he finally tore his eyes away from the closed door, he looked down at himself, suddenly annoyed. He was still rock-hard and he could _feel_ his ass stretched out, slick and waiting. Couldn’t Dean have fucked him and yelled at him later? He sighed in frustration and pawed around the bed until he found his boxer shorts. Cas pulled his shorts up and shifted to the side of the bed, sitting up. He slowly stood up, seeming to make a decision. Cursing in Enochian, he rummaged through the box under the bed. He selected a small toy, just big enough to press against his prostate, and took the lube from the drawer. Cas made his way quickly back to his own room.

 _Fine_ , he thought. He didn’t need Dean. He could do this himself.

When Dean got out of the shower, he brushed his teeth quickly, and then headed back towards his room. Dean had a whole conversation planned out in his head in case Cas hadn’t left, but thankfully, he had. He was tired and frustrated tonight – they could have that conversation tomorrow. As Dean settled into bed, he suddenly heard sounds coming from next door. He pulled out his iPod, intent on ignoring them when he heard a harsh moan.

Dean set his alarm clock, and was about to turn on his iPod when he heard a brisk slap break the air.

Jesus Christ. Cas was spanking himself.

He felt himself getting hard again and cursed, realizing his iPod was dead.

He could ignore it. Just turn his back to their shared wall and Go. To. Sleep. He could do this.

A needy groan reached his ears. Dammit, this was his fault. He’d never taught Cas to be quiet. Dean reached down to grasp his erection, and cursed himself internally.

This was _wrong_. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should be leaving his room until Cas was spent and asleep. But he couldn’t make himself move from the bed. Dean settled into a rhythm, pulling on himself quickly. He was mad at Cas, but Dean still wanted to cum with him. As he stroked himself, he bit back moans. He wasn’t going to give the fucker the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to him. Dean had a point to make to his boyfriend, and he couldn’t do it if he knew Dean had been hardwired to respond to Cas’ body.

He groaned into the pillow as Cas moaned again, the shuddering moan he always gave right before he tipped over the edge. Dean listened with bated breath, his hand slowing so he didn’t go over first.

Cas groaned, and moaned “De-” before he seemed to remember himself. He moaned roughly, no words this time, just the frantic sounds of his orgasm pulling him under.

That was enough: biting back a moan, Dean pulsed in his hand, his legs shaking from the force of it. His breath finally evened out, and he reached over the side of the bed to find something to clean himself with. But as his hand reached down, he felt the corner of the shoebox where they kept their toys sticking out. The mess temporarily forgotten, Dean’s hand closed around it and he brought it up to the bed. He took the lid off and peered inside. Cas had taken the small blue one, the toy the two had started off with after they’d started having sex. It was a curved silicone toy with a flared base. The thought of Cas shoving that thing inside of him was enough to make his cock ache, and a needy little noise caught in Dean's throat . He put the box back and grabbed a pair of boxers to clean up. Dean turned the light off and settled in against the pillow.


	4. Not Forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from last night's fight begins, but it's not even close to the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning (I guess?): Some really intense yelling and actual fighting.
> 
> Please see updated tags for clarification.

The next morning, Cas woke up sore and alone. He looked around, realizing he was in his own room, and the argument from the night before came flooding back. He pushed it from his mind, ignoring the throbbing of his head as he went through the motions of his morning routine: bathroom, brush teeth, floss.Then he went back to his room, not yet ready to face everyone. Kevin, Sam, and Charlie would know something was wrong. Dean was a different problem altogether. He’d seemed legitimately concerned the night before, but also strangely offended. Cas didn’t think on it too hard, instead turning a single-minded focus toward his new morning training rituals: he stripped his handgun and cleaned it, before putting it back together. A stopwatch was going on his nightstand as he did this. When he was done, he hit the stop button and sighed.

_Not good enough._

He disassembled and reassembled the piece three more times until he finally got a satisfactory mark. After that, he got down on the floor and began to do push-ups. He did them slowly, concentrating on his form as he counted off quietly. Once he had exhausted himself, he staggered to the shower room, ignoring the nervous and confused stares the others gave him en route.

After his shower he felt better; his muscles no longer trembled or ached, and his headache had lessened. With his towel tucked tight around his hips he entered the kitchen. Although it had been months since his nude escapade in the living room, he couldn't be bothered to care about his state of general undress. He rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a slice of pizza. Cas poured himself a cup of coffee and took them both to his room. After eating wearily, he dressed sluggishly. Cas glanced at the clock on his nightstand, and noted that it was noon. As he sat on his bed, Dean’s words rang in his ears, leaving him empty and angry. He could _feel_ the prickle of tears behind his eyes, which only made it worse. Cas balled his fists tight against his thighs, willing the emotion to pass. He knew that Dean was right, and worried someday he’d ask why.

_Just because I promised not to kill myself doesn’t mean I’m forgiven._

It didn’t matter if the boys had forgiven him. It didn’t matter if he was resigned to being human, or that the angels had more or less assimilated. Hael’s words still lingered: _“What’s an angel without its wings?”_

Tears began to fall hard and fast and he sniffed, trying as hard as he could to keep quiet. Cas curled up on the bed, struggling to keep his breathing deep. He lay like that for what seemed like an eternity, until he heard a knock at the door.

“Cas?” Dean asked gently.

The wave of emotion that had hit him had seemed to ebb, but tears continued to fall anyway. His eyes burning and face contorted in shame, his breathing became shallow. He couldn't let Dean see him like this.

“You awake?”

Cas didn’t answer, and Dean sighed from behind the closed door. “Just let me know when you’re ready to talk.” With that, Cas heard the man's footsteps retreat.

How could he make Dean understand? He deserved it. After awhile, he was too tired to cry anymore; he clicked off his lamp and fell asleep.

When he woke, it was after three. He turned on his lamp and laid on his stomach, cracking open his Shakespeare book. A few hours passed this way, and he finished the last act of _Julius Caesar_. Why couldn't he have picked a happier story? He flipped to _The_ _Tempest_ and was about to start reading when he heard a knock at the door.

“Cas, can I come in?”

“Yes,” he responded, marking his page before shutting the book.

Dean peeked his head in, before striding into the room. He shut the door behind him and sat on the bed. “I know I said ‘let me know’ but I didn’t think it was a good idea to let this go on longer. Sam and I used to stew for days and it really screwed with us.”

Cas nodded, not meeting his eyes as he put his book on the nightstand.

“So what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Cas replied, straightening the book with the edge of the table.

“Like hell,” Dean responded. “Are you really that mad I wouldn’t fuck you?”

“I’m not mad, I’m confused. You just _left_.” Cas knew playing stupid with a Winchester wasn’t the best course of action, but he didn’t know if he had it in him to tell the truth.

Dean sighed, pulling up the speech he’d prepared last night in his head: “Listen up, Cas: If you ask me to bite or bruise you, _I will_. If you ask me to tie you up or edge you for hours, _I will_. But I’m _not_ going to call you names, and I’m not going to make you bleed, no matter _how_ _many_ _times_ you ask. _You can’t have sex with me to punish yourself._ ”

Although Dean's words were harsh, his voice was nearly broken with emotion. “Understand?” he asked, his eyes searching Cas’. The words hitting him like a sack of bricks, Cas said nothing.

Cas stood suddenly, his back to Dean. “I think I should sleep in my own room tonight as well.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he stood. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Cas responded acidly.

Dean grabbed his arm, trying to get Cas to look at him. In a fit of misplaced anger, Cas suddenly spun around, and struck Dean in the jaw. Dean reeled from the force of the punch, his hand rubbing the spot when he regained his footing.

“ _Cas, what the hell?_ ”

Dean was already close to the wall and Cas pushed him back against it, grabbing his shirt collar. He stood there defiantly, eyes locked on Dean’s.

Dean matched his gaze, body tense to take another swing, but otherwise calm. Slowly, the knit of confusion in Dean’s brow smoothed, and his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

He couldn’t stand the way Dean was looking at him; Cas released one side of his collar, preparing to punch again. In that instant Dean grabbed his shoulders and swung them around, pinning Cas to the wall. He held him there, scowling. Cas wrestled his grip, but Dean held him immobile. “This is really fucked up, you know that?”

Cas stopped resisting, instead just glaring at Dean. “I’m not going to hit you, or hurt you. I don’t know why you _want_ me to, but I won’t.”

Cas wrestled his grip again, but still couldn’t get away. “This isn’t normal. _Talk to me_.” He said nothing, staring daggers instead. “Why are you _trying_ to get me to hurt you?”

His stoic façade broke and he screamed, _“Because it’s what I deserve!”_

Dean was stunned, but he focused on keeping his grip on Cas tight. He’d only ever seen him this angry when he got his ass kicked in the alley; luckily, as a human, Cas wasn’t nearly as strong as he was.

“My actions caused all this! My grace went into that spell. Do you know how many angels _died_ because of me? I may be human, but I ripped the wings off of all my brothers and sisters. IT IS MY FAULT THEY CAN NEVER GO HOME!” He paused, breathing heavily. “I deserve to be punished.”

Dean held him there, his eyes getting glassy. “No Cas, you _don’t_.”

He took a deep breath to collect himself, noticing Cas just looked defeated now, his outburst having drained him. “The angels falling, you becoming human… that’s on Metatron. He tricked you and almost got you killed. You may have been a dumb-ass, but you were never a sadist.”

Dean paused, the next words harder: “I know what it’s like to hate yourself _so_ _much_ you just want it to be over.” He swallowed, and took another deep breath. “But do you know how pointless it is? How that won’t SOLVE anything? And do you know how _selfish_ you’re being?”

He let go of Cas’ shirt but caged him in with his arms, his scowl returning. “How the _fuck_ do you think that makes me feel? Everyone I love would rather off themselves than stay and fight with me. Do you _know_ how much that hurts?”

A tear slid down his left cheek and his arms dropped. He sat on Cas’ bed, eyes fixed on the carpet. He dropped his head in his hands and added, “You asked me once why I didn’t think I deserved to be saved. Now I’m asking, why don’t you?”

His muscles went lax; if Cas wanted to punch him again, he wouldn’t stop him. He felt exhausted, raw.

Cas felt rooted to the spot. He stared at Dean, mouth agape. Eventually, Dean raised his head and looked at Cas: the look on his face was heartbreaking; he looked more vulnerable than Cas had ever seen him. His eyes said, “Don’t go, I need you,” while the tremble of his jaw added, “But I expect you to.”

Cas’ legs suddenly decided to start working again, and he walked over to the bed. He sat down next to Dean, and raised his hand to Dean’s face. Dean steeled his jaw, expecting to be struck. Instead, Cas turned Dean to face him. He leaned in, their foreheads touching. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

No more words came to him, so he tilted his chin, pressing his lips against Dean’s. The kiss was soft and chaste, but Cas tried to press as much meaning into it as he could: “I was wrong,” “I’m sorry,” “I’ll stay.”

Eventually they broke away, and Dean spoke, his voice small: “I can’t do this alone, Cas. I love you.”

Cas nodded, his lips curling into a sad smile. “I won’t leave you, Dean. I love you, too.”


	5. Feelings are a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean begrudgingly asks Sam for advice. Later on, Dean tries to pull apart the knotted cluster-fuck that was their fight, one string at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just talking, and a few movie references. There won't be porn for awhile. Sorry guys!

Dean and Cas were more than slightly awkward after last night’s fight. After sharing what they’d tried so hard to hide, they each felt exposed. Cas dove into research with Kevin, while Dean spent the afternoon in the garage tuning up the impala.

Just as he finished changing the oil, he heard the door to the garage open. Dean slid out from underneath the car slowly, listening to the approaching footsteps. A pair of large brown boots stopped near his shoulder and he looked up to find a hand wrapped around the necks of a couple of beer bottles. Dean stood up and took one of the bottles, gesturing it towards him in thanks before using the lighter in his pocket to pop the cap off. “Thanks Sammy, I needed this.”

Sam just huffed out a laugh and leaned against the impala. He took a swig of his beer and looked down at the floor, lips puckering in thought. Dean knew that look, and he already didn’t like where this was going. “Just spit it out,” Dean griped.

“Um, okay. Well, I know this is none of my business-”

“You’re right, it isn't,” Dean interjected, trying to shut the younger Winchester up. He didn’t know how many more heart-to-hearts he could take. I mean sure, he’d gotten a lot better at this feelings crap in the last year, but it just didn’t come as naturally to him as it did to Sam.

“Anyway,” he forged on, “are you and Cas okay? Yesterday Charlie and I heard you two yelling all the way from the viewing room.”

Dean blanched; he knew their argument hadn’t exactly been _quiet_ , but that room was on the other side of the bunker. He took a long swig of his beer to avoid answering.

“Because if you guys broke up or something…” Sam didn’t finish the thought, settling on taking another sip of beer.

“We didn’t break up,” Dean replied. “But we might. I don’t know – it’s fucked up.” He looked past Sam when he talked, then back down at his beer bottle.

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he prodded, “What happened?”

     “Cas feels responsible for the angels falling. He’s pulling a Jean Grey.”

     “A what?.. You mean the psychic chick from the X-Men?”

     “Yeah, the one that was way too hot for that pansy Cyclops. Remember the second movie?”

     “Dean, I just got back from a three hour drive with Charlie. She’s great but I’m all out of patience for disconnected thoughts. Can you just drop the metaphor?”

     He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “When Cas first got here, he was so torn up about the angels falling that he tried to off himself with a bottle of Jameson. I thought he’d gotten his shit together since then, but we got in a fight and he still thinks he deserves to be punished somehow.”

“Huh… So was he taking the emergency Vicodin or something?”

“No, he wasn’t trying to kill himself. But Sam… _fuck_ , this is gonna sound-” Dean’s jaw trembled and he looked like he was going to duck out of the conversation, his eyes darting away.

“Dean, come on. Our whole life ‘sounds’ bad or wrong, or whatever.” He was used to his brother dancing around issues, but he needed to know if this was important. Usually, the vaguer Dean was, the more serious it was.

“Sam, he uh… he keeps wanting me to be rougher with him. The other day he told me to _make him bleed_ during sex.”

Sam’s eyebrows flew up again. “Wow. That’s uh… that’s messed up.”

Dean just gave him a “Ya think?” look and finished off his beer. He started staring off into the distance again and Sam just sighed at him. “You want my advice?”

He’d hunched in on himself and scrubbed his hand over his face before he responded, “I'm out of answers. Literally. So shoot.”

“You gotta level with the guy. I mean, the guilt thing is tricky; it’ll take time. Hell, Cas is the only person I know who can out-guilt you Dean. But the sex thing? You two have to fix that – _soon_.”

Dean nodded in agreement. Any follow-up he could think to ask Sam sounded pathetic and whiny even inside his own head, so he sighed and gestured for Sam to get off of Baby instead. He popped the hood, and started checking the other fluids.

Sam took this abrupt end to the conversation in stride. Dean could clap him on the shoulder for a good hunt or when he made headway in research. But this… this was different. This was hard for Dean, _really_ hard. And Sam didn’t want this to end like all the other relationships Dean had found too hard: a self-sacrificing wave goodbye, telling them they’d be better off. No, Cas deserved for this to work. And Dean? Well, Dean needed it to.

_____________________

Later that night, Dean and Cas were sitting in the den, the credits to “Brokeback Mountain” rolling.

“So, did you like it Dean?”

“I knew it was gonna be about gay cowboys, but I wasn’t expecting a romance. That was almost up there with ‘The Notebook’.”

Cas shot him an amused glance; Charlie had forced him to watch it the week before.

“Shut up, Lisa made me watch it.”

“So, did you want to watch something else?” Cas asked, shifting in his seat. They were sitting too far apart, and it made Cas’ stomach flop in worry. He’d offered the movie as a sort of peace offering, since Dean had disappeared into the garage until dinner. It might not have worked, but maybe more movies would…

“I was thinking we could just sit here and talk for awhile, if that’s cool?”

“Sure, Dean. What’s on your mind?” He tried to screw a smile onto his face, but it felt hard and wrong.

“We need to have a serious talk about us.”

Cas’ mouth went dry, and he nodded slowly, his eyes wide. He fought to ignore the way his stomach swooped sickeningly.

“If we just try to pretend this didn’t happen, it won’t be right. If we go back to sleeping together, what are you gonna do?” The look Dean gave was at once challenging and concerned.

Cas’ eyebrows drew up in confusion. “What do you mean? I’ll do what I often do: be the receptive partner for us to reach climax.”

“I don’t think you understand the question, Cas. What I mean is, how is it going to be _different_ , so a few nights ago doesn’t happen again?”

“Why does it need to be different? The only difference should be in what I express to you, correct?” Cas _had_ heard what Dean had said yesterday, and understood in some far-off way that what he was saying wasn’t right. But it was how he felt, and as Dean had said to him on more than one occasion, _feelings are a_ _bitch._

“No, you gotta change how you think about it. Jeez, just let me help you,” he entreated, getting frustrated.

“I don’t need help.” He didn’t. They’d get over this the same way they’d gotten over every harsh thing they’d said to one another – by pretending it hadn’t happened.

Dean balked at the statement and before he knew it, he was uttering a very familiar phrase: “ _Damn it Cas, we can fix_ _this!_ ”

“ _Dean, it’s not broken!_ ”

Dean got a sudden wave of déjà-vu. He thought about the last time Cas had said that, and wondered if he was going to get royally boned again. He pushed that fear down and decided to take Sam’s advice.

“But it is… Cas, I know that you must think, somehow, that this way is better. That you’re getting around the promise you made me and quieting all that guilt inside your head. But you _can’t_ use violence to get rid of a feeling that strong. It helps for awhile, and then it doesn’t. I did the same thing with hunting, and _thank god_ Sammy was there to pull me out of it.” He paused, trying to gauge Cas’ reaction. Cas, however, purposefully kept his face impassive.

“But if you turn all this _hate_ toward our relationship, you will poison it. If you turn a way in which we love each other into a way for you to hurt yourself, this entire thing will just _rot_ between us until nothing good is left.” He paused again, letting the words sink in.

Cas broke, his eyes getting glassy. The words had carved a dull ache into his chest and he swallowed painfully. What could he say? If Dean, the man who believed he ruined lives by simply knowing people, said _Cas_ was fucking up the relationship, then what did that say about them?

What hurt the most was that Cas didn’t disagree.

“I know this won’t be easy for you, but we’ll work on it. We’ll figure it out together.” Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ hand.

“Okay, Dean,” Cas replied, after staring at their joined hands for a long time. A sad smile worked its way across his face.

“My mattress is starting to forget you. Sleep in my room tonight?”

Cas nodded, and pulled them both to standing. The two walked to Dean’s bedroom and slept in each other’s arms.

                   __________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who didn't watch "X2", what Dean was getting at was that Cas thinks he had to sacrifice himself unnecessarily, much like Jean Grey did.


	6. John Winchester was a Real Piece of Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is apparently going to have a few more heart-to-hearts before all is said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this one is short guys. I'm dealing with wording in the next chapter, but I wanted to update. In any case, hope you like it.

When it became clear that jerry-rigging an angel detector was more work than initially thought, Charlie became frustrated. “You know for being built in the forties, this is surprisingly advanced,” she griped to the men studying at the table.

Charlie hauled a heavy-looking box stacked full of papers into the hallway, headed towards the computer room. Dean dropped the book in the library and intercepted her.

“Let me give you a hand,” Dean offered, a loaded look in his eyes as he took the box from her.

She caught on and nodded. They stepped into the computer room. After she shut the door behind them, she asked, “So… What’s up?”

He put the box down on a nearby table, noticing a large trashcan that had been pulled up to the shelves of aborted experiments. Dean cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. “I uh… I just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, pulling a few small tins from the top of the box. They’d been holding the papers down and now Charlie popped the hinges, revealing what looked like a hundred red dots. She opened another and produced several rolls of scotch tape.

“For being you. I probably wouldn’t have-” _accepted myself,_ _made a move on Cas_ \- “ _this_ if you hadn’t shown me it was okay. That I didn’t have to choose.”

“Oh,” Charlie replied, clearly surprised. “I thought you were going to say about the supercomputer.” She took a breath. “But yeah, definitely. I’m glad I could help! Sucks I wasn’t there for your coming out though.”

“It wasn’t much of one,” Dean admitted. “Cas and I told Sam and Kevin we were together… Although Sam says he’s known about me for awhile.” He smirked. “He always was the smart one.”

“Awhile?” Charlie broke into a sly smile.

“He said he noticed me checking out dudes back when we were teenagers, but thought that it was just ‘curiosity that had passed’ since it stopped until… well, until Cas.”

“Huh,” Charlie replied, thinking this over as she began to look through the papers.

“And uh, he was right. I _did_ have a wandering eye back in high school. But then dad, well, he sorta ‘scared me straight’.” She gave him a questioning look, her mouth pursed in disapproval. “But to get into that, well… it’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Charlie urged.

“Um… Okay. Here goes: When I was growing up, there was _one_ openly gay hunter. His name was Sebastian Jones.” He took a deep breath. “Sebastian was as good as anyone, but he suffered his fair share of harassment. I mean, he was left alone at the Road House, but not all bars were so tolerant. He spent his cases beating up almost as many hunters as he did monsters. They didn’t like that he didn’t ‘look gay’ for one: yeah, he wore his pants tight and always looked freshly showered, but he also wore ball caps and plaid. Besides, it was the eighties – everyone wore their pants tight.”

Charlie chuckled and nodded, urging Dean to continue. “And then the baddies found out. See, he’d made something of a name for himself hunting vamps. He was on a case tracking a nest of, I don’t know, 20 vamps when he got bit. The leader had just dug into him when another vampire came back with Sebastian’s lover. Of course, this was the 80’s when there was that big AIDS scare so the vamps put two and two together and accused Sebastian of poisoning him. He killed them both, and the nest hasn’t been found since. The fucked up thing is he didn’t even _have_ it.”

“He was in the next town over from Sioux Falls when this happened, so dad took Sammy to Bobby’s and me to the autopsy. He said, ‘Take a good look son, because I want you to remember this man.’ When we were leaving he explained who he was, and why he died. He said, ‘Dean, it’s not your fault you look like your mother. But things are going to be tough from here on out. You’re going to have to prove yourself twice as hard, because they’re only going to see you as a pretty face. You walk into a hunter bar and they’re gonna think you’re lost, some nitwit kid. Or they’re gonna think you’re someone’s boy-toy, or a whore.” He remembered the conversation well… “Don’t give me that look, they will,” his dad had continued, although he didn’t add it.

He cleared his throat and started again. “‘Even if you can convince them you belong there, they’ll see you as another Sebastian. And you don’t want that.’ He said, ‘Thank god you’re not a girl, you’d have it even tougher. And I know you’re not sensitive like your brother, but you don’t wanna stick out. So date more girls, grow a beard, and you’ll be fine, understand?’” He sighed.

“So I did. I slept around and honed my skills until I could knock a guy out with a single punch. And I pushed it down. But after Cas brought me topside, it started coming back. When I met you, I learned I could give girls whiplash but still get down with a guy if I wanted to. Of course by then I was a grown ass man and I’d never even _kissed_ another guy, so I was scared shitless. I guess it’s a good thing Cas wasn’t.” He laughed uncomfortably, and met her eyes.

She looked like she was about to cry. “Dean…” Charlie started, her voice full of emotion. She reached out and hugged him tight. He hugged back, the anger and shame that had been welling up inside of him fading. When they broke apart, he stood up. “So yeah, thanks. I should get started on dinner, though.” He left before Charlie could object.

 


	7. Friends are Family you Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will the fighting never end? Dean and Cas finally drag it ALL out into the open, and the bunker is never quite the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of feels in this chapter, and some minor smut.

Dean and Cas had trouble getting back into a routine. Even with the repeated conversations/arguments the two had had, a feeling of unease gnawed at Dean. And even if he put on a big smile for Charlie and joked along with Sam and Kevin, he knew enough about unresolved issues to know this was one of them. But no matter how many good “hug and cries” Dean had participated in lately, he wasn’t Sam. Sam, Mr. I’m-in-touch-with-my-feelings and his honest “I’m okay, you’re okay” crap still left him rolling his eyes. So Dean waited tentatively on the sidelines for the other shoe to drop.

Cas, on the other hand, seemed to think the old “Winchester standby” – stubbornly refusing to acknowledge problems until they came out in heated, drunken confessions – was the way to handle things. As an angel Cas had been able to see through the petty fights and defense mechanisms, for the boys often had good intentions. But now, as a human, he was often too overwhelmed by the minutiae of sensation to face pain head-on. So he’d grit his teeth, screw on a smile, and hoped all of whatever _this_ was would just drop away.

This touch-and-go _thing_ went on for the next week: Dean and Cas slept in each other’s arms at night, but neither tried to initiate anything. As far as their _needs_ went, Dean took to jerking it in the shower quickly, but Cas seemed shut down. As Dean and Cas curled around each other, Dean noticed how cold Cas’ skin was. He pulled the covers in tighter after Cas turned off the light.

Dean woke late the next afternoon, Cas still peacefully sleeping beside him. Even though they’d gone to sleep with Dean being the big spoon, they somehow ended up the other way around. Cas pressed in tighter against him, giving a little sigh of contentment. Dean suddenly became very aware of Cas’ erection pressed up against his ass. He slowly turned over, but Cas didn’t so much as stir. Dean arranged Cas onto his back on the bed, and spread his legs. He had an idea, and wanted to see if he could prove it.

He slowly dragged Cas’ boxer shorts down, setting his straining erection free. As he tossed them towards the foot of the bed, he carefully crawled into the empty space between the man’s legs. Dean paused, breath shallow. Was he really going to do this?

 _Fuck it,_ Dean thought. _He’ll_ _love it._

He lowered his face down, grabbing the base of Cas’ cock with one hand. Braced on his other hand, he pressed forward, nudging the head of the now-leaking cock past his lips. His tongue swirled around the crown and across his frenulum before lapping lower on the shaft. As he began to suck, Cas’ breathing shuddered. Dean darted his eyes up, but Cas’ head was still back against the pillow. He set back to work, taking Cas further down his throat. He didn’t have much of a gag reflex by this point, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He shifted down onto his elbow so he could squeeze his thumb tightly. He took another breath and dipped down further, deep-throating him.

He couldn’t believe that worked; he didn’t choke once. His other hand moved from the base of Cas’ cock to his balls, and he pulled on them gently. Cas gave another groan in his sleep. He pressed back against his perineum, and Cas gave a gasp. He sat up suddenly, his fingers roughly gripping Dean’s hair as he shot down his throat. He shook and Dean eased him through it, stroking his thigh as he lapped at him. When he pulled off, he swallowed harshly, and did the best he could to avoid making a face.

As he shifted in next to the spent man, Dean settled against the headboard. “Thank you,” Cas said after a moment.

“Just trying to prove a point,” Dean remarked much hoarser than he would’ve liked.

“What point?” _That he was good at blow jobs?_

“That you don’t have to feel pain to get off. That your body doesn’t _need_ it.”

“Dean, what are you talking about?”

“You think if you stop doing it so rough, you won’t be able to respond, right?”

_How had he –_

“You’ve come out of the shower freezing the last few days. You’re taking cold showers because you don’t know how to deal with it after… after what happened.” Dean looked away guiltily; had he drove Cas to this?

Cas said nothing, his eyes on his lap.

“Why do you think you have to do everything yourself? I said _we’d_ fix it. _We,_ you know, _as in you and_ _me?”_

Cas looked up at him, hurt.

“What was the plan here, anyway? Cold showers aren’t a solution- they’re a band-aid.”

“You sound like Sam,” Cas countered.

“Hey, don’t turn this around on me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Cas replied angrily. “Can we just _stop_? We’ve talked this to death. Just let me return the favor, and we’ll figure out my character defects later.” He wanted to do this. He wanted to get back to normal, to make Dean feel something other than outrage and disappointment.

“NO Cas, it’s time we figured this out,” Dean replied. He was so hard it hurt and he knew that denying Cas was only torturing himself, but he had to get it through the man’s thick skull. “You don’t _always_ have to give back. It’s okay to just take sometimes.”

“That is contrary to _absolutely everything_ I’ve read about sex,” Cas responded defensively. If Dean wasn’t going to shrug this off in favor of lust, he might as well fight back.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t care if I don’t get off. I’m saying _you have this habit of thinking you don’t deserve_ _anything_ and it’s not true. I think that’s what’s gotten you into trouble before – you _want_ and you _need_ but you think you can’t have, so you _steal_. And it blows up in your face.”

“Dean, are you referring to the time I tried to act as God? I’ve learned my lesson since then,” Cas balked.

“Have you? This isn’t about blowjobs Cas. This is about your self-worth… and mine.” He knew how he sounded, and he hated every word that was flying out of his mouth. But Dean knew it needed to be said.

Cas just sat there stunned; he’d gotten entirely too many hard truths these last few days. “People in glass houses shouldn’t thrown stones, Dean,” he replied in a clipped tone, eyes narrowing.

He found his boxers on the bed and yanked them back on. He wasn’t going to play a game of “Whose-daddy-didn’t-love-them-more?” with Dean Winchester naked. He stood up, and crossed his arms over his chest.

 _What_ _the_ hell _was going_ _on?_

“Fine. I have terrible self-esteem as a human. It’s probably because I was never meant to be one!” Cas scowled, his gaze holding Dean’s defiantly.

Dean visibly flinched at the words, but was relieved his erection was flagging. “Well you’re stuck and it sucks, but don’t you think you should _try_ to do the best you can?” he asked earnestly.

Cas couldn’t do this. Too much in too short a time. He had shared his heaviest burden with the man, and now he was turning it around as some sort of self-improvement nonsense.

 _Fuck._ _That._

Cas walked out of Dean’s room, leaving him staring after the door as Cas had done so recently. Dean got up and chased after him. Cas couldn’t get to his room; Dean had slipped past him and was blocking the way. So Cas walked towards the library, giving Dean a “go fuck yourself” glare. Dean caught up to him once they reached the library, and grabbed his arm.

“Will you just wait a minute?”

“Dean, let me go.” His voice was icy, and even Kevin looked up from the tablet at the sound.

Dean, however, was unrelenting. “Look, I know I might not have been the best role model when you brought me back topside, but real people who don’t hate themselves _talk_ about things. We need to deal, so it can get better.”

Sam had closed his book and was watching the argument from three chairs away. Kevin, across from him, kept darting his gaze from the couple to Sam and back again. Charlie had very slowly stood up and was edging towards the two. “You guys okay?” she asked timidly, plastering on the biggest, fakest smile she had.

“NO!” They shouted at her in unison, and she backed away. Sam took this opportunity to stand up, and moved to Charlie, wrapping an arm around her.

“This dick wants me to use him as my own personal punching bag because he hates being one of the ‘hairless apes,’” Dean explained, and both Charlie and Kevin stared back confusedly.

“And this Ass-butt he-” He halted, suddenly at a loss for words. What could he tell them that they would understand? That they wouldn’t think he was crazy for saying?

_He won’t let me fuck myself into oblivion._

_He won’t let me wallow in self-pity about the angels._

_He won’t let me go…_

Did he want to go? He didn’t think so, but the way he felt was so devastating and if Dean was the cause of those feelings…

But he wasn’t. Dean told Cas things he already knew, things he needed to hear. Dean was shit with words and worse with feelings, but he was _trying_. He was trying so hard to make their relationship work, to help Cas. But Cas didn’t want his help, didn’t think he could accept it, even though Dean was a part of this.

He finally finished his thought: “This ass-butt keeps pushing me to change, and it’s _already too damn hard_.”

The it, clearly, was humanity. Even space-case Kevin got that. The snarl was gone from his mouth, the fire in his eyes dying down. The look he gave was somewhere between about-to-cry and I’m-going-to-punch-you. Dean was quickly becoming familiar with that particular look.

“Dean, what are you guys talking about?” Sam finally asked. He had some of the pieces, but didn’t know what, if anything, Dean had said to Cas since their talk in the garage.

He made a noise in his throat. It was embarrassing, but they’d already told them too much as it was. Fuck it.

“I already told you, Sammy. I told him to change because he needs a shred of self-respect. He’s trying to pull some masochistic, no safe-word, ‘50 Shades’ shit during sex. He’s punishing himself, and I don’t want to be the way he does it.”

Charlie’s eyebrows flew up in alarm, but she remained quiet. Kevin still hadn’t moved from his chair, watching the event unfold like one would a car crash.

“And you?” Sam asked Cas. “What did this jerk do?” Dean gave a huff of annoyance, but waited for Cas’ answer.

“He keeps trying to get me to change the way I think and act," Cas responded. He turned from Sam back to the man before him and shouted, _"YOU DON’T_ _OWN ME DEAN!_ ”

There it was: it finally made sense. Sam seemed almost as floored as Dean was. It was quiet for a long time, each staring at the other defiantly. Finally, Charlie broke the silence: “Can I say something?”

The men both looked back at her, but neither said no. Cas’ face was blank, while Dean looked like he’d just been slapped. Hesitantly, she asked, “Why do you think Dean thinks that about you, Cas?”

Dean just balked at her, then turned back to Cas, waiting for an answer.

“You treat me like I’m a child, like you can boss me around. All you do is tell me the things I can’t do. You prevent me from leaving the bunker and refuse to let me join you on hunts.” He took a deep breath. “I _know_ I’m not invincible anymore, and I know I’m not powerful. But Dean, I’m _not useless_ , and I’m not so special that I need protection. I’m not Kevin – there’s nobody looking to steal me away. I’m not _important_ enough for that anymore.” Wide blue eyes searched confused grass-green ones, pleading for him to believe.

Dean suddenly tore his eyes away, looking off to the side and steeling his jaw. When he met Cas’ gaze again, the determined knit of his eyebrows betrayed the emotion in his voice.

“So that’s what you think, is it? Well, lemme tell you what I think: I think people are looking for you. You’ve got a price on your head, man – heaven thinks _you’re_ the reason they all crash-landed here. They’re wrong, but since when do those feathery dicks care about getting their facts straight? I’m sure someone told them you were the enemy, and they all just bought it. _That’s_ why I told you to stay in the bunker. You say you’re ‘not important’, ‘not special’? Why – because you’re not an angel anymore? That’s _bullshit_. You ARE special, and you ARE important. Not just to me, but to this whole damn family. And if you believe for a second that we don’t feel that way, ask them!”

Sam, Charlie, and Kevin were stunned into silence by Dean’s speech. Suddenly, Dean broke Cas’ gaze and turned to Sam. “Tell him, Sam. He thinks we just want to use him.”

Sam released his grip on Charlie and took a step forward. His eyes went glassy, his mouth turned down into a frown. He gazed at Cas sadly until Cas met his gaze. “Cas, you’re wrong. I went from being amazed by you to terrified… to distrustful. I was _messed_ _up_ back then. But you, you… you took it on. You let Lucifer inside your head to make up for wronging me. _You sacrificed your sanity as an apology_. To me! Not to Dean, not because Dean made you, but because you cared about me.”

He paused, a slight chuckle coming out like a huff. “And when you got your marbles back, you took on Dick Roman with us. Not just because Dean forgave you, or because the Leviathan escaped, but because you cared about us. _ALL of us_ – me, Dean, Bobby, _hell even Meg_. You didn’t fight to clean up your mess; you fought to keep the world safe. After purgatory, you found us. You’ve told angels and demons alike that if they messed with the Winchesters, they were messing with you. And you’ve proven it time and again! If you thought we were ‘using’ you, if you thought Dean ‘owned’ you, _why_ would you do that? I know you’re confused and frustrated but you don’t hate Dean – _you love him_. And _he_ _loves you_. _And I love you_. _You’re family, Cas_.”

The room was dead-silent, as everyone waited for Cas to say something. When he didn’t, Kevin very quietly added, “I’m like you, Cas. I didn’t expect to get ‘adopted’ by the Winchesters, but they are like family. A second, _scary_ family, but I feel safe here. And you’re part of that family. I’m not gonna get mushy, but I care about you too Cas.” He managed a small smile before he broke Castiel’s gaze – he couldn’t hold a staring contest with a former-angel. That was Dean’s thing.

“I care about you too, Cas,” Charlie added. “I know I’ve probably resisted this Winchester family thing more than anyone, but after my mom passed… I-I think we all belong here, together. You all are like the brothers I never wanted.” She let out a laugh after that, letting Cas know she was _clearly_ joking.

The tension began to dissipate after that. Cas turned back to Dean, and Dean regarded him seriously. “I don’t own you, Cas. _You_ own you. And I – hell, _we all_ – want you to be happy. I know it probably seems like I’m some pathetic guy, picking up people along my travels and just clinging to them because my parents are dead. But that’s not it. All the people that get roped into the ‘new’ Winchester family deserve to be there. Kevin might be the smartest guy I know besides Sam, and he’s the only one who can match my snark. And Charlie is the only one who can one-up my pop culture references. And you… fuck I’m going to sound like I’m in a rom-com saying this, but here goes: I didn’t think I could fall in love until I met you. Yeah, I had Lisa for awhile, but we tried too hard to force it. And you can’t force love. I thought I was so broken, so empty that I could never have anyone to care about me besides Sam. And that’s not the same at all. You’re family but not like a brother. You’re my boyfriend, my partner… _Cas, I LOVE YOU_.” Dean stood there, his gaze unwavering as his family was stunned for the second time that afternoon.

Eventually, Cas spoke: “This is… how you all really feel?”

When the others were quiet, Dean burst out, “ _For God’s_ _sake,_ YES.”

He matched Cas’ gaze until Cas could _feel_ something break inside of him. Slowly, very slowly, he walked towards Dean. The heavy feeling that had been weighing on his heart seemed to lift as he drank in the loving gazes of the others. Timidly, he reached out for Dean. Dean pulled him into a tight embrace and into a kiss. And for once, Sam let the P.D.A. slide.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems like Dean is beating a dead horse, but they hadn't really resolved that part of it til now. And when it comes to serious relationships, unless you resolve something, it's gonna come back to bite you in the ass.


	8. Angel G.P.S?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie makes some headway. Dean and Cas do the do.

The next afternoon, Charlie burst into the library, triumphant. “I… I did it!”

Sam and Dean left their chairs immediately and were at her side in seconds. “Now, when you say ‘did it’…” Sam began.

“I can track THEM, _all_ of them!” She broke into a huge grin. “Bow before The Queen, bitches!” Partly because he was impressed and partly to placate her, Dean bowed. Cas looked at him strangely until Dean winked after righting himself.

“The power needed for ‘Angel G.P.S.’ is incredible though, so I have to keep my laptop plugged in to the supercomputer to make it work. Come check it out!” She gestured for everyone to follow her.

When they stopped in front of the room, the boys were gob-smacked: Charlie had completely changed the room. The supercomputer hummed, a back-up generator hooked up to it. Charlie’s laptop was plugged in to it, sitting on an end-table that had been dragged from the den. A chalkboard with some very technical-looking writing was pushed into a corner, and they noticed the shelves of aborted experiments were gone. Instead, plastered all over the walls were maps: maps of the world, of each continent, of North America, of the United States, and of each individual state. Small red-tipped stick pins littered the maps, most of them clustered in the states.

“So how does this work?” Sam asked, peering down at her laptop. Lines of code kept appearing at the bottom of the screen, sending the previous line higher and higher until it disappeared beyond the border of the screen.

“So this big guy here,” she gestured to the supercomputer, “actually has grace stored in it.”

“ _What?_ ” Cas asked, viewing the machine with suspicion.

“From what I gathered from the records, it’s just scraps of grace from different angels. I think the Men of Letters – super sexist name, by the way – got the angels to donate it. I mean, they weren’t exactly shy about documenting uses of force in these matters.” She cleared her throat, the worry from Cas’ face easing. “So this machine basically figured out a way to ‘read’ the grace, making it able to track the grace of other angels.” She sat down at the lone chair in front of her laptop and typed for a moment. “I want to caution this program is _very_ rough, very imprecise. It’s no Google Maps.”

They nodded, Cas peering intently at the pins in Kansas. “I want to go here, Dean.”

“Where? There’s gotta be 50 pins on that one.”

“Forty-one, actually,” Charlie chimed in.

“Please, Dean… I have to know my brothers and sisters are okay.”

Dean looked across all the maps. “How many angels _are_ there, exactly?”

“Not including the confirmed dead and myself, 9,723.”

“Cas, we can’t visit all of them. It would take the rest of our lives!”

“I know, Dean,” he replied sadly. “But _please_ , can we see these ones?”

Dean looked around helplessly. “Charlie, this is great, really. But is there _any_ way you can get more specific with this program? Even just for Kansas?”

Charlie typed, encountering “Error” messages again and again. “It’ll take me some time, Dean. At least a week, if I can even manage it…” she responded sadly, then went back to typing.

“If Charlie can tell us where they are, I’ll drop everything and we’ll go. Okay, Cas?”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas surged forward, his lips meeting Dean’s as he gripped his hands tight. He kissed Cas softly for a moment before pulling away, remembering they weren’t alone.

However, Kevin had by this time left, realizing the ‘track the Kansas angels’ mission had nothing to do with him. Sam’s head was bent down, having been deep in conversation with Charlie. But now it snapped up, and the two just stared at them: Dean blushed slightly while Cas remained completely unfazed. Charlie shot them a look of mild amusement while Sam, as always, looked slightly traumatized.

Cas laced his fingers in Dean’s and dragged him out the door. “Where are we-?”

“Bedroom,” Cas cut off.

“But we haven’t since… you sure?” Dean paused in the hallway, right outside his door.

“Want to,” Cas replied, kissing at his neck, “So amazing, so loving…” He pushed Dean against the door; “You do want to, don’t you?” He challenged.

He took Dean’s hand and pressed it to his groin, “You can feel how much I want it,” Cas coaxed, as he reached his fingers up to unbutton the hunter’s flannel. He gently licked at Dean’s collarbone, nuzzling against the soft skin there. He used one hand to pull Dean close and the other to open the door behind him. He pushed Dean through and followed, locking the door behind them.

“You better lock it,” Dean replied, “because with the noises you’ll make… you won’t want anyone rushing in to check on you.” He grinned slyly and shrugged out of his flannel. As he pulled his T-shirt over his head, Cas went to lock the door. By the time he turned around Dean was lying on the bed, stroking himself. Cas closed the distance quickly, losing his T-shirt along the way. He unbuckled his jeans, letting them puddle around his feet. Dean opened the nightstand and was reaching for the lube when he heard Cas say, “No condom. I want to feel you cum inside me.”

His hand closed around the bottle and he asked, “Are you sure?”

He stepped out of his boxer shorts and crawled onto the bed. “I’m sure,” he replied, taking the bottle from Dean’s hand and popping the cap open. He poured a generous amount onto his fingers and handed it back to Dean.

Cas crawled in between Dean’s legs and got onto his knees, his dry hand braced on Dean’s thigh. With his gaze focused on Dean’s he reached behind and pushed two fingers inside of himself. He groaned slightly, but began to work them in and out.

“You okay?” Dean asked, a note of worry edging his otherwise awestruck voice. “You want me to-”

_“No,”_ he replied breathlessly, “I want you to watch.” As he worked himself open Dean reached forward, taking ahold of his cock. Cas gasped, thrusting into the feeling. He gestured for the lube and coated his fingers again. As he worked a third finger inside of himself he moaned, his fingertips brushing across his prostate. Dean jerked him faster, loving the way he could actually _see_ him twitch from this angle. Cas moved his hand from Dean’s thigh, grabbing his hand. “Lube yourself up,” he ordered, as he continued to move his fingers inside.

“But you’re not ready, I-”

“I’m ready,” Cas growled, yanking Dean’s hand forward. He pushed Dean’s fingers against his hole, sloppy wet with lube. He pushed against Dean’s hand harder and two fingers sunk in without resistance. When they were in, Dean realized Cas still had two of his own fingers inside.

“Jeez, are you-”

“Taking four fingers? Yes. Now fuck me.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He gently withdrew his fingers and lubed his cock up. Using his slick hand to hold it steady, he capped the lube and turned to Cas, who was withdrawing his own fingers. His cheeks were flushed and he was panting as his gaze trailed hungrily up and down Dean’s body. He moved forward, kneeling over Dean. Cas lined Dean up and sunk down onto it. He lowered himself too quickly, needing to be filled with Dean _now_. He shuddered as it pressed against his walls, filling him up entirely. He spread his thighs wider, letting himself straddle Dean while he took a moment to adjust. He looked over at Dean who was panting from the sensation, his hands gripping the sheets. Cas leaned back, his hands gripping Dean’s thighs for balance. As he began to move a small, needy noise escaped Dean’s throat. Cas’ thighs pistoned up and down and shook when Dean began to roll his hips up into him. Dean reached out, his hands wrapping around Cas’ hips as he drove up into him.

“You like it baby? Fucking yourself on my cock?” Cas moaned, his cock twitching against his stomach. As he moved his hips faster, Dean thrust harder. “Tell me how it feels when it hits you so deep, when I push into that tight little hole of yours…”

“So good…” Cas sobbed out, breathing heavily. “I just want you to drive it into me until I can’t speak.” He groaned, Dean making first contact with his prostate.

“You’re so hot, so good, like you live to ride my dick…” Dean reached forward and started stroking his cock. Cas’ eyes flew open, his lips parted as he panted out Dean’s name. “You want more, baby?”

Cas nodded, riding faster. Dean thought for a moment, knowing Cas needed more. “How about I bind your wrists? Tie you up so I’m completely in charge of your pleasure.”

“ _Please_ ,” Cas moaned out, Dean’s cock dragging against his prostate again.

Dean reached into the nightstand and pulled out a tie before shifting forward. “Arms behind your back,” he ordered, and looped the fabric around Cas’ wrists. When he’d secured a square knot he asked, “Safe word?” Cas just rolled his hips, mind suddenly blank.

“Lexicon,” he managed to mutter out. It was the only word he could think of that he’d never have reason to say during sex. Dean yanked the tie tighter, leaning forward to nibble on Cas’ prone neck. Cas struggled against the bonds and arched into the hand stroking him. Dean pulled tightly on the tie, ceasing Cas’ movements. “You want me to cum inside you?”

“Yes,” he pleaded, his thighs starting to shake.

“Be good and I‘ll give you everything you want, baby.”

Cas struggled against his bonds again and shot Dean a defiant look. “Oh… So you need to be taught how to be good?” He pulled on the tie again.

“Stop struggling,” he commanded, his hips slowing. When Cas didn’t comply, Dean took his hand off his cock. “Look at me.”

Cas met his eyes, and the defiant look slowly softened. “That’s right… Now stop struggling.” Cas’ arms went limp and Dean’s pace increased. He rolled his hips, glancing his prostate. Cas’ cock twitched visibly. “Like that, don’t ya baby?”

Cas nodded, moving faster. “Slow down,” Dean ordered, grabbing his hip with one hand. Cas slowed, rolling his hips so Dean could hit that special spot again. “You want me to touch it?” he asked, gesturing to Cas’ neglected cock.

In between pants, Cas moaned out a “Yes.” It was maddening – the slower Dean went, the farther away Cas’ orgasm seemed to be. But, the things Dean was saying were _doing_ something to him.

“Kiss me,” Dean urged and Cas surged forward, catching his lips. Dean wrapped a hand around it and began to stroke. “Good,” he murmured as they broke apart.

The look he gave Cas was one of pure pride. He bent down, catching one of Cas’ nipples between his teeth and bit gently. He felt Cas clench around him, a gasp escaping his lips. He worried the other in between his teeth, and felt Cas clench again. “Feels so good when you do that baby… Can you do it again?” In response, Cas squeezed tightly and a throaty moan left Dean. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, nearly at his limit.

He angled towards Cas’ prostate again and sped up. “All right baby. Ride me hard.”

Cas’ thighs started to burn as he quickened his pace. Dean thrust into him hard, the measured strokes lost as his self-control began to crumble. One hand still working his cock, the other pulled on the tie and he rushed up, catching Cas’ neck with his teeth. As he sucked a mark into the soft flesh there, he felt Cas’ trembling increase. “Come on baby, cum for me.”

With that, Cas gave a low groan, his legs giving out. He strained against the bonds as his back arched, his dick shooting cum onto Dean’s stomach. Dean watched him, entranced, breathing out, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Cas’ hips eventually stuttered to a halt and his eyes sprang open. He looked down at Dean; Dean who, even with his torso painted with Cas’ release, still managed to smirk up at him. Cas became acutely aware of Dean’s cock throbbing inside of him as the man thrust up with little circles of his hips. “Tell me you want it,” Dean urged, the strain of holding back causing his words to come out in gasps.

“Dean, please… cum inside my ass…”

Dean’s hands gripped Cas’ hips and thrust in deep. In the next instant, Dean was shuddering out Cas’ name, filling his hole.

_“Fuck,”_ Cas whispered, feeling it shoot against his walls. It was so hot and so perfect that he clenched tight around Dean, uttering a low moan. After a few minutes Dean shifted, his hands untying Cas’ wrists. He grabbed Cas’ back and pulled him forward, laying him over his own body.

“Can we just lay like this for awhile?” Dean asked the brusque, clipped tone from before gone.

Cas moved his arms to cage Dean in and replied, “Of course.”

They lay that way until Dean softened, and he shifted to pull out. He gently moved Cas onto his back and found something to wipe them up with. He rubbed Cas’ arms, soothing the tired muscles. He noticed his wrists had a bit of fabric burn, but weren’t bruised. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I wanna shower but if you need me here, I’ll stay.”

“Stay,” Cas entreated softly.

“Okay,” Dean replied, kissing the top of his forehead. They soon fell into a lazy nap.

Dean woke an hour later, Cas still dead to the world. He quietly slipped out of bed and took a quick shower. When he got back, Cas was still sleeping. He burrowed under the covers and spooned him, falling asleep once more.

When they awoke, a few hours had passed. Dean nudged Cas: “Hey, you awake?”

Cas made a small annoyed noise, but his eyes popped open. Dean rolled his hips against Cas, his hard length pressing against him. “How’d you feel about round two?”

Cas gave a noise of dissent, words seemingly too hard at the moment. “C’mon… I’ll go easy on you.”

Dean licked his lips hopefully, but Cas didn’t seem like he was going to budge. Finally, Dean sighed and added, “I’ll do all the work.”

A few more minutes passed while Cas considered this, turning the option over in his head. He pressed back against Dean and nodded. Dean reached past him, finding the bottle of lube tangled in the covers. He slicked Cas’ hole up, then his cock. Cas breathed steadily as Dean lined himself up. With one easy push in, he bottomed out. Dean moved so he was between Cas’ pressed thighs, Cas’ upper body twisted so they could look each other in the eyes. His thrusts were shallow, easy. The slide from the lube and his cum was exquisite, pushing Dean towards the edge much quicker than usual. He brushed against Cas’ prostate, and Cas’ breath shuddered.

“You take it so good baby,” he praised, leaning in to lock lips with him.

Cas kissed back, moving his hips so his hardening cock would brush against his thigh. Dean moved his leg, stroking him while he maintained the rhythm. He glanced over his prostate again, and Cas clenched. A moan was pulled from Dean’s lips as he kissed along Cas’ neck. His breath huffed out against Cas’ skin as the soft press of lips reached his collarbone. He stroked faster and focused on hitting Cas’ prostate. “You feel so amazing,” he murmured.

His hips started to falter – the sensation, the _idea_ of it was almost too much to bear. He reached up, raking a hand through Cas’ hair fondly. “What do you need, Cas? Need to make this good for you…”

He reached down again and resumed stroking a slightly-trembling Cas. As he gazed down at Cas, the vulnerable look Dean rarely let show through was mirrored in Cas’ eyes. “Dean…”

Cas reached a hand up and pulled him closer. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, and Cas deepened it. When they pulled away, Dean noticed the shine of a tear along Cas’ cheek. He stopped moving and reached up, wiping it away. “Are you okay?”

Cas nodded and smiled up at Dean. “I’m… _happy_ ,” he responded incredulously. Dean smiled back at him and started moving again. Cas angled his hips so Dean’s cock would hit his prostate more frequently, and Dean captured his lips in another kiss. “I want you to cum hard baby. Think you can do that for me?”

Cas’ breath caught as Dean glanced his prostate once more and nodded. He clenched around Dean, and it was all over. Dean came with a groan, “Cas” tumbling from his lips. As a second wave of heat bathed his insides Cas clenched again, Dean’s cock trapped against his prostate. Dean stroked him just a little bit faster, and that was exactly what Cas needed: he moaned, Dean’s name thrown into the noises he made. Cas pulsed out onto his stomach, groaning when he came down. If he hadn’t ached everywhere before, he sure as hell did now. Dean pulled out, cum beginning to drip down Cas’ thigh as he lay there too spent to even move.

Dean murmured “Be right back” and quickly exited the room. He came back in a few minutes and cleaned Cas up gently, before snuggling in next to him.

“Dean?” Cas asked softly.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Just now, did we… ‘make love’?” Cas wasn’t sure if he was using the term right. All he knew was, that second time felt _different_ somehow.

Dean’s eyes widened and he thought about it. Eventually, he pressed in tighter against Cas and replied, “I think we did. Heh, well I’ll be damned.” With that, he kissed the nape of Cas’ neck and laced his fingers through Cas’. They decided to turn in early that night.

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably not the best BDSM etiquette, but I hope you liked it anyway. :)


	9. I'm not one of them anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift in perspective, and Charlie comes through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, and that it has been so long since my last update. I've been having issues with story direction and transcription, mostly due to the start of school. In any case, enjoy!

The next few days passed quickly: since Charlie spent hours shut up in the “computer room,” Cas picked up the movie marathon he and Charlie had been having with Dean. Sam and Kevin joined the frazzled hacker from time to time, offering advice or bringing her food when she failed to show up for meals. Day seven came and went, and Cas began to get antsy.

“What if she can’t do it?” Cas asked Dean fearfully.

“Charlie? She can do anything – she’s practically a wizard.” Dean had taken another fake card into town earlier in the week and bought an acoustic guitar. Now, he sat tuning it on the couch while Cas kneaded the stress out of one of his calves.

“Dean, this is my _salvation_ we’re talking about. I appreciate if you’d take it more seriously.” He glared, and his hands ceased.

“I _am_ , Cas. And I’m telling you if Charlie can’t do it, it can’t be done.” His brows were knit in determination and he shook his leg at Cas. “Dude more rubbing, less doubting.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean before continuing. Dean finished tuning the six-string and gave it an experimental strum. He smirked at Cas, an _I’m awesome_ look in his eyes.

He couldn’t help himself – Cas crawled up to Dean’s lap, pushing the instrument aside as he cupped his face. He pressed a kiss to his lips and said, “I was wrong before, when I said you had no faith.” Dean remembered the instance but god… it had been _years_. “The faith you show in humanity is so strong. If I can even approach what you feel towards the rest of us, I will be a much better man.”

Dean started. Had he just…

“Cas,” he started slowly, “do you realize what you just said?”

Cas gave him a small, sad smile. “As you said before… I should try to make the best of it.” There was something inevitable in the way he said it, and Dean could feel a dull ache in his chest when he met Cas’ eyes.

That was it. Cas finally realized the harsh truth – that he was _stuck_. That he was never going to be an angel again. The frantic denial, the struggle and fear had left his face. This mission wasn’t about getting his grace back. It was about making things _right._

Dean picked up the guitar and began a slow, clumsy melody. He’d spent his free time researching one particular song this last week… After every few chords, he would stop and mouth a few letters before trying again. After awhile, a vaguely familiar sound reached Cas’ ears.

“Dean,” Cas asked, “is that… ‘Hey Jude’?”

A warm look in his eyes as he paused to answer, he responded, “Yeah, Cas, it is.”

_________

The next few days were tough. Sam grew increasingly worried about Charlie, fussing over her to the point that she banned him from the computer room.

“Sam,” she bit out, “leave me _alone_.” She shut the door in his face, her frustration quieting the sense of guilt at seeing his puppy-dog eyes.

So Sam began following Dean around, asking if there was anything _he_ could do for her, and if _Dean_ would talk to her. “Dean, she’s pale and thin and she rarely sleeps!”

“She was like that when she _got here_ , Sam,” Dean reminded him, and took the guitar out of its case. “Why don’t you help Cas make lunch?”

Sam bitch-faced his older brother at the dismissal, and left the room. Dean had said pointedly that Sam watching him practice bothered him. He didn’t like being bad at stuff around Sam. His stupid pride still got in the way sometimes.

______

Once two weeks had passed, Charlie bounded into the room, wild-eyed and smiling. “You guys are going to _love_ this.”

Back in the computer room, she showed them a new map of Kansas, 46 red pins stuck into the paper, each dot encircled by very a precise circle. “What _is_ all this?” Sam asked cautiously, peering closer. He didn’t know if he should even be here, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him.

“Well, after a LOT of tinkering, I was able to narrow down the search.” She decided the apologies could wait until later – she was too pumped.

She cleared her throat: “So _not only_ was I able to narrow it down to city, but see those circles there? Those are three mile-wide diameters. I was able to track every angel down to a one and a half mile radius of their homes!”

“That’s great!” Sam replied with the first comment approaching anything near enthusiasm in the last few months.

“You’re awesome,” Dean agreed, beaming at her. Without further prompting, he made a flourish and bowed to her again. She grinned, looking entirely self-satisfied.

Cas suddenly closed the distance between Charlie and himself and pulled her into an abrupt hug. “ _Thank you,_ ” he said quietly.

She stood there stunned for a moment, before she smiled warmly at him. When he broke away, he turned expectantly to Dean.

Dean smirked and asked, “Is four in the morning early enough for you? I gotta plan out a route and it’s almost dinner.”

Cas nodded enthusiastically, revealing one of his few genuine smiles. Dean carefully began to remove the map from the wall. “So what would ‘The Queen’ like for dinner? I’ll make you whatever you want.”

Charlie smiled wide and looked up at the ceiling, pondering the question. Dean looked over to his little brother and asked, “You’re coming, right Sammy?”

Sam looked from Cas to Dean and asked, “Sure I won’t be cramping your style?”

“Nah… Bring your laptop, hunt if you get bored. Besides, our FBI bit works a lot better when we have someone that actually _acts_ like an agent.”

Cas and Charlie shot Dean an unamused look before Charlie finally blurted out, “Manicotti!”

“Okay,” Dean responded, “but you have to help me make the ricotta.”

______________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Everyone's feedback is very helpful. Where do YOU think the story should go?


	10. All Winged Things Eventually Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will sets off in search of incognito angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my friend Kate for transcribing part of this. School's been tough and I just got a new job. (I don't think I've slept 8 hrs in weeks, tbh.) Anyway, sorry it's been so long everyone!

Early the next morning, long “before even God was up”, Cas and Dean hauled duffle bags into the kitchen. A very sleepy-looking Sam drank a cup of coffee while he rummaged in the fridge for a cup of yogurt. He located his prize and flopped down into a kitchen chair, sighing heavily at the others. He ate his make-shift breakfast in silence; meanwhile, Cas began to munch on a sleeve of crackers. Dean looked around at the men eating without any sense of pleasure in an attempt to stay awake.

“We’ll be in Lawrence in three hours, guys. You don’t gotta eat now.”

“Dean, just because you can run on all day on black coffee and a cheeseburger doesn’t mean the rest of us can,” Sam replied more irritably than intended.

Dean sipped his coffee and replied, “Sam, you don’t eat food. You eat _food’s_ food.”

Cas chuckled, pouring himself another cup of coffee before shouldering his duffle. Dean paused at the door and looked down at the bunker. “Take a good look, guys. This might be the last time we ever see home.”

Sam wanted to say something, to tell Dean to knock off his melodramatic bullshit. But he couldn’t. It very well _could_ be the last time. It was no secret that some of the angels were hostile, and many had no reason to doubt it was Cas’ fault for the fall.

The boys had loaded themselves up with angel blades and holy oil, but they still didn’t like their chances. Cas wanted to avoid conflict altogether but, as Dean had pointed out, he wasn’t likely to get his way.

Charlie and Kevin slept on, having said their (hopefully temporary) goodbyes the night before. Cas took one more look around and gave a long sigh before heading out the door. Dean followed close behind. It was only when Sam heard Dean’s shout that he broke from his reverie and scrambled out the door.

After they threw their bags into the trunk, Sam headed for the passenger seat of the impala, ignoring Cas’ disgruntled noise. When they had all climbed in, Dean looked over at them: “All right, this is the plan. I drive to Lawrence, we have breakfast. Sammy will take the wheel until the next town. We check out the two angels in town and then hit the road again. Then we’ll head to the next town over, where the third one’s hanging out - it’s only an hour away; that’s when Cas will drive.” Sam’s eyebrows flew up as Dean pulled onto the highway.

“Usual rules: _Driver picks the music,_ _shotgun shuts his cakehole._ Though I swear to God Sam, if I hear any Coldplay, your driving privileges will be revoked so fast-”

“Okay, I get it,” he replied. Dean turned on his Metallica tape but kept it low so Cas could sleep.

They drove in relative silence for a while as the sun started to rise. Eventually, Sam broke through it: “You’re really going to let Cas drive?”

Dean nodded, switching to an AC/DC tape. “As long as he doesn’t piss me off before this afternoon, yeah.”

“Wow.” Sam gave him a skeptical look.

“I told you, I care about the guy. Besides, he knows if anything happens to Baby, he’s toast.”

“Such a romantic,” he joked, opening his laptop.

“Hey, I’m hella romantic,” Dean argued, speeding up when he spotted the exit sign.

Dean turned up the volume, and Cas stirred in the back. After a quick breakfast, the boys were piling back into the impala, staring at Charlie’s map. “Still can’t believe they didn’t have any pie,” Dean grumbled, trailing off as he squinted at the map.

“Dean, it’s nine a.m. on a Tuesday. They were probably making sure they had enough coffee.”

“You know, I don’t _just_ eat at diners to piss you off. There are certain things you _expect_ : Waitresses in aprons, specialty foods, and _pie._ It’s the principle of the thing.” Sam just sighed and started the car.

They drove to the exact epicenter of the first three-mile circle and locked up. “Okay,” Dean started, rubbing his hands together and cracking a grin, “Let’s split up, gang!”

Cas squinted at him. “I don’t understand that reference.” Sam just chuckled.

“Cas, you come with me. Sammy, you go east; we’ll go west. We’ll meet back here in four hours if we don’t find anything.”

They broke and covered ground quickly. The more people they questioned, the more Cas could feel his mood slipping. Just before the outskirts of town, they ran into an old woman. She wore a modest pink dress, and she fluffed the curls of her white bob as she checked the time on her watch.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Dean asked genially as he approached her, “Think you could spare a few minutes for my partner and I?”

The woman’s loafers halted but she replied, “I’m not talking to any cops.” She said it factually, her voice twanging with a slight southern drawl. She looked up at the suited men, her wizened eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Dean’s hand froze in his pocket and dropped the fed badge, his other hand reaching out and stopping Cas’ which didn’t seem to get the message. As Dean and Cas closed the distance between themselves and the woman, an idea struck him. Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ hand again, this time not letting go. When they got to the woman, their hands were still clasped.

“There may have been a misunderstanding,” Dean started, staring down at their hands, “Cas is my _partner_.”

The woman looked down at their hands, then back up at their faces. “Oh…” she replied slowly, taking in the contrast of the men’s rugged features to their sharp outfits. “Y’all are queer?”

Dean broke out into an embarrassed smile, nodding slightly and Cas stood there, letting Dean lead. For making such a big deal over the “bisexual” label, Dean seemed to be awfully capricious about it now. Cas supposed this was part of “the plan.”

The woman gave them a sly smirk, and surprised them by asking, “So, what did you boys wanna know?”

Dean seemed to have recovered himself and went right into investigation mode: “Have you seen anything strange lately? Shooting stars, craters, any folks acting different?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, _different_?”

He pressed on. “Personality or appearance changes that seem sudden, anything like that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Cas realized they weren’t really getting anywhere and asked, “Has anyone around here converted religions recently?”

“Why do you ask?”

“So there was someone…?” Dean asked, breezing by the question.

“Samantha Lawrence recently began attending my church. None too soon, if you ask me.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asked, slipping into a gossiping tone.

“Girl was a train wreck: only nineteen and she’s already slept with half the men in town. Not that her parents didn’t try, of course. But some young ‘uns are so willful… She used to have a drug problem, too – well, before she found Jesus, that is.”

“Know where we can find this Samantha Lawrence? We’re thinking of converting ourselves.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you two. After all, it’s not like you’d try to make her sin … She teaches Bible Club at St. Jude’s on Third.”

“Thanks. Hope to see you later,” Cas called as they walked off, realizing if Dean spoke it would end in disaster.

Once they were far enough away, Dean began grumbling under his breath. Cas didn’t catch all of it, just that the woman “didn’t know” Dean and if he and Samantha felt like it, Dean could “plow her into next week.” Cas shook his head, chuckling at how easy it was to get under Dean’s skin.

Once they passed First Street, Dean finally stopped sulking and turned the questioning to Cas. “How’d you know to ask that question?”

“Many angels view humans as inherently flawed; they would want to find vessels they could ‘fix.’” Cas looked somewhat sullen as he explained, “Their vessels probably didn’t understand what they were getting themselves into. It’s quite possible some angels may not be working in their vessels’ best interest.”

“So you think Samantha Lawrence is getting driven around by some holy roller against her will?”

“It’s possible – some angels have very rigid belief systems.”

“Yeah… Kinda comes with the territory,” Dean agreed. “So how many of these angels are there?”

“Most of them, I suppose. Some probably don’t even know it’s wrong.”

They reached the church soon, and Dean called his brother. “Sammy, we got a bite. Yeah, possible vessel at St. Jude’s on Third Street. What do you got?” He listened for a second. “Nothing yet? Well, keep trying. Hey, ask if anyone’s converted lately… Okay, gotta go.”

Dean and Cas entered the church quietly, surprised to find it in session. The choir was up on the stage, and the pastor, who had been standing off to the side, walked over to them. “Welcome, brothers. _Please_ , take a seat.”

“Oh, we’re not here for the service; we’re looking for someone,” Dean responded respectfully.

“Samantha Lawrence,” Cas added in his usual tone that was _far_ too serious for most situations.

“Oh, our favorite soloist?” the pastor asked, referencing the lone red-head on stage. “Sounds heavenly, doesn’t she?”

“She certainly does,” Dean agreed, as the choir left the stage.

“Gotta go; final prayer to give,” the pastor said, excusing himself.

The men bowed their heads along with the rest of the congregation for the prayer. When the sermon concluded, they split up, covering as much ground as possible in the sea of people to find the woman.

Cas and Dean reached her at nearly the same time, and Dean was the first to speak. “Samantha Lawrence?”

She nodded and then seemed to notice Cas. “You sing beautifully,” he observed.

She smiled at the compliment and turned back towards Dean. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, yeah. See, me and… Paul here just moved to town. We hear you’re new to the church too. We were wondering if you could tell us more about what it’s like?”

“I’m sure the pastor-”

“He had a line of about twenty people after the sermon, and we met one of your congregation who said you were the one to talk to.”

“All right, if you insist. Let’s go to the Bible study room – it should be quieter.”

Once in the room, Dean began, “So, we hear you’re new. What made you pick St. Jude’s?”

“Well… What did you say your name was again?”

“Jack. Well, John technically, but I go by Jack.” Dean had had to make up the first names on the fly. He was so used to waving a badge around, pretending to be “Agent Rezner” or ”Marshall Rose” that he never gave people something familiar, personal. But for whatever reason, these church-goers were flighty and untrusting of cops.

“Okay, Jack… this is going to sound so cliché.”

“Try me,” Dean challenged lightly.

“Recently, I ‘saw the light’,” Samantha began, fiddling with the cross around her neck. She had a strange look in her eyes as she turned to stare out the window, then continued. “I was living a very troubling life and needed to change. And thanks to God’s will, I was able to do just that.” She gave a small smile and replied, “I was drawn to this place. I can’t really explain it…”

“You don’t say,” Dean prodded.

“I must’ve walked by this building hundreds of times. It’s right near my home.” She gestured to an apartment complex which could be seen from the window. She gazed out the window sadly, remembering the way her life used to be.

When it seemed unlikely she would continue, Cas butted in: “I just wanted to remark again on how beautifully you sing. Song is undoubtedly the most effective way to be a messenger of God’s word.”

Her whole demeanor seemed to change with the compliment and her smile was genuine as she responded, “I was so happy they had room for me in the choir. I’ve missed singing so badly.”

“Oh, were you in a choir when you were a kid?” Dean asked.

The woman’s blue eyes widened, and she shook her head emphatically.

Cas decided to change topic, realizing Dean’s method of trying to coax the truth from this woman would likely be unsuccessful. Although it was true Cas didn’t have “people skills,” he did have “angel skills.” Angels in vessels often had to be roused to extreme emotion to learn anything of value.

“Can I ask you a question about your faith?”

She seemed to relax at the request and nodded.

He cleared his throat and asked sincerely, “Do you believe in angels, Samantha?”

She started but quickly tried to plaster a smile onto her face. “Wh-why do you ask?” Her fingers twisted the hem of her knee-length skirt.

“From what we’ve heard of your struggles, your transformation is nothing short of a miracle. Some would say you have a guardian angel.” Although his words were innocuous enough, the intent behind them was clear.

The redhead stood, suddenly incensed. “Who are you two _really_? What do you want?”

She thrust a hand into her thick cardigan, withdrawing her angel blade.

Dean raised his hands, saying “Easy, lady…”

Cas knew this angel, and that she would not fight unless ordered by the Almighty himself. “Sister, please calm down. We wish you no harm.”

Samantha froze, wondering if she could believe this man. “I – I’ve done nothing wrong! She _asked_ for this.”

“We’re not doubting that,” Cas explained and the frightened expression finally left her face. “I came to find you,” he continued. “I just want to know… are you happy, sister?”

“‘Sister’? Are you an angel too?” she asked hopefully.

His mouth nearly formed the word “yes” before he shook his head. “No… But I was. My name is Castiel.”

“What do you mean, ‘was’? Wait, _Castiel?_ I’ve heard your name. The true story of the fall has been whispered, that you were betrayed by the scribe…”

Cas regarded her glumly: “Metatron deceived me,” he confirmed. “I was told that he had a ritual that would seal heaven. Nothing would get in or out, and we’d have to find a way to peacefully coexist.” He took a deep breath. “But, it was actually a spell. I should’ve known better… what ritual would require mutilating a cupid, or murdering a nephilim?”

“But a nephilim is an abomination!” She protested, trying to comfort her fallen brother.

“No, sister, it’s not. Taking up arms against an innocent soul is the abomination. I know that now. Our Father would not want us to fight for any reason other than our own protection.”

She nodded slowly, still unsure of his words. “In any case, the last ingredient of the spell was taken forcibly – the grace of an angel.”

_“NO…”_ she whispered, horrified at the very implication. She hugged her arms tight around herself, shaking her head. When she met his gaze again, he nodded solemnly.

“But your vessel… How can you remain in it without your power?”

“This vessel,” he responded mournfully, “is vacant. He ascended to heaven over three years ago.”

She reached out and gently touched his cheek. “An angel become human… how does it feel?”

He replied, “Uncomfortable… Cold, lonely. It’s too quiet without the voices of my brothers and sisters. I feel weak, and like everything is an affront-”

“Like I felt after the fall,” she interrupted.

“Yes, it is very similar. To feel thirst and hunger multiple times a day gets exhausting, and something always hurts.”

“Is your vessel damaged?” she asked, perplexed.

“No, it’s just ‘the human condition,’” he remarked. “The sun in your eyes, the ache in your muscles, or the leaden weight of your heart… it’s continuous.”

“How do you bear such an existence?” She looked to both men, genuinely expecting an answer.

“Well, it’s not like I know any better,” Dean joked half-heartedly.

Cas contemplated the question before finally answering, “Perhaps, when you were learning to control your vessel, you also experienced her pleasures? The slide of silk against the skin, or the warmth of alcohol in the stomach?”

She shook her head.

“The ecstasy of carnal union, or the comfort from the love of another?” he tried again.

She looked out the window again and seemed to fold in on herself as she sat back down. “The first day… I meant only to observe. My grace remained in the background of her mind, concentrating on healing her body. She… injected poison into herself and the way it made the vessel feel was _extraordinary_. I believe I understand, at least conceptually.”

“That is how I bear it, sister. I temper the pain with as much pleasure as I can safely stand. I believe most humans do the same. It is too easy for the pain to consume you, otherwise.”

She nodded, seeming to consider this.

“Are you happy, sister? If I am correct, you are Kaliel.”

“It is, and I am. My vessel is very understanding of my methods.”

“Please Kaliel, would you share my story over angel radio? I have many more yet to see, and do not court death.”

“Of course, Castiel: And you should know… I do not blame you. You were as much a victim in this as anyone. After all, I may have lost my wings, but you’ve lost so much more.”

He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Thank you, sister.”

As they left the church Dean asked, “Was that true, what you said to Kah-lee-elle, about your humanity?”

Cas looked ahead despondently, not even noticing the way Dean had stumbled over the name as he buried his hands in his pockets. “Yes Dean, it is. Before, you mentioned the concept of defense mechanisms. I think I wish to learn some.”

“Cas… It’s not something you can teach. You just learn by living life. But they’re not good things, man. You only learn that kinda stuff if you don’t feel safe.”

“I understand,” Cas said, although he wasn’t sure if he did.

Dean grabbed his hand: “It’ll get easier, I promise.” Cas just nodded, thoughts elsewhere.

                        _____

When they met Sam, he was smiling widely. “I think I found the other angel,” he announced.

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“I asked about conversion and got a name – Robert Twilly. He’s at the men’s shelter a few blocks down.”

“Let’s go,” Cas urged.

 

When they arrived Dean walked around to the garden in back, talking to residents. Sam and Cas made their way inside the two-story building and found the organization’s director. “Yes agents, Robert is on laundry duty. Has he done something wrong?”

“No, we just need to ask him a few questions,” Sam assured, putting the man at ease.

“Where’s the laundry room?” Cas inquired.

Three men worked in the laundry room: One pushed a large white cart down the hall, white sheets and towels stacked atop it; another loaded machines, pulling linens out of the wheeled laundry baskets; Robert stood in front of a long table, folding towels.

“Robert Twilly?” Sam asked, holding out his FBI badge.

Cas opened his and quickly flipped it over, realizing it was upside-down. He looked off to the side, hoping the man hadn't noticed. “Can we speak with you privately?”

The man recovered from his surprise and looked to the other shelter residents. “Steven, help Mark deliver the towels and dress the beds, okay?”

When the others left, he swallowed nervously. “What’s this about, agents?”

“We just have a few questions about the last few months. You came to the Good Shepherd two months ago, correct?”

“Yes. I only have a month to go before I can move out. You need three months’ residence before you can get a job that’s not temp work. By then, I should’ve saved enough to pay rent. There’s a low-income place near St. Jude’s.”

Sam forged on: “You seem like a fairly industrious guy, Robert. Why are you even here in the first place?”

“Demons,” he answered, and the “agents” exchanged a glance. Robert smirked and pointed to his temple. “At least, that’s what I call them.”

“Them?” Cas asked, not following.

“The voices,” Robert clarified.

“Has there… been a new one recently?” Sam asked as delicately as he could manage.

Robert looked at the two mistrustfully. “Yes… But this one calls himself an angel.”

“An angel?” Cas parroted, hoping they were right.

“He calls himself Idris. He said he’s helping, that he’s been healing me.”

“How?” Sam asked, not sure if it was even in an angel’s power to cure mental illness.

“He heals my body, and has been mending my brain. He tried to explain it, something about neurotransmitters…” the man trailed off, seeming confused. “I – I couldn’t follow. I think it’s working: the voices are quieter now; except his, of course. But everything has its consequences.”

“What do you mean, ‘consequences’?”

“He said he must leave me soon, after I’ve found steady work. I think… I’ll be lonely.” He stared off into the distance until Sam broke the silence with an awkward throat-clearing.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. But do you think we could talk to him?”

“I’ll try…” the man started, “but he doesn’t like talking.”

 

The man put the towel down and suddenly, a bright blue light flashed in his brown eyes. “You’re hunters,” the man stated gravely, his voice suddenly much deeper. His brow furrowed, appearing nothing like the docile man he’d been before.

“We didn’t come to hurt you, Idris,” Cas started earnestly. “We know you’re only carrying on your work.”

“What do you know of my work?” The angel asked uncertainly, studying Cas’ countenance. There was something strangely familiar about the man.

“I know you were one of the mage class angels. You healed humans in early times, then turned to our war-torn brothers. It is quite admirable, what you do.”

“Castiel?” the man asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“I thought you’d perished in the fall. No one has heard from you.”

“My grace was stolen. I’m human now… or at least something close to one.”

“You should not have come here. Metatron will find me now!” the man snapped.

“I was deceived by Metatron – he and I are not in allegiance.”

“Why should I believe you? _The angel who proclaimed himself_ _God?!_ This is some elaborate plan to make me join your legion.”

“Please, brother. I have no legion. When Metatron enacted the banishment spell, I aided him unknowingly. My grace was the last ingredient – I did not give it willingly.”

“If that is true, then what burns inside your vessel? You tore your grace and sacrificed part of it to that insipid scribe, while leaving enough to walk among the righteous.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “Idris, what do you mean? He restrained me and slit the throat of my vessel to remove it. I am as powerless as a human. Why would I willingly do that to myself?”

“A plan failed, then,” he countered. An angel blade appeared from his sleeve. He took a defensive stance as he accused, “A bright light, unlike that of a human soul glows inside you! It is only the smallest scrap, but it is there. Leave me now, you monster.”

The man lunged at Castiel and when his spar was countered, Cas ground out, “Please brother, do not do this! I’m here to make amends, not fight.”

Cas pushed him off and staggered backwards. He vaguely saw Sam draw a knife from his waistband and Idris growled, “Your pilgrimage of half-hearted apologies may fool some, but they do not fool me. Ambushing a flightless mage is low, even for a consort of Metatron.”

“Metatron is our _common_ enemy, brother. _Please… believe me._ ” Cas blocked a punch Idris threw his way, but couldn’t step away in time. The angel slashed Cas’ bicep, Cas staggering back from the pain.

Sam rushed forward, knife at the ready. Idris opened his mouth, and suddenly, an ear-splitting sound shook the room. Sam fell to his knees, knife falling to the ground as he clutched his hands over his ears. He looked over to Cas, the wound forgotten as he covered his own ears.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” Cas yelled.

Idris glared at the men and the ringing ceased. He replied, “Leave this place Castiel, and do not show your face again.”

Cas’ hands left his ears and he nodded. He nodded to Sam, who was shakily making his way to his feet. He scooped the knife off up the floor, and as he got closer, Cas noticed he was bleeding from both of his ears.

“It is only in deference to the Almighty that I show you any mercy at all,” the angel explained as Sam joined Cas’ side.

“I understand,” Cas replied and the two stowed their weapons as they turned to leave.

Sam and Cas made their way quickly outside, avoiding as many people as possible. When they reached the car, they found Dean rooting around the trunk. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fry that motherfucker,” Dean snarled, pulling out the jar of holy oil.

Sam put his hand on Dean’s arm, stopping him. “DEAN, NO,” he practically shouted, his ears still ringing.

“Sammy, you’re both bleeding and the third floor doesn’t have any damn windows. Dude is dangerous.”

“He just wants to be left alone,” Cas explained. “We knew this could happen.”

Dean slowly released his grip on the container and sighed heavily. “We gotta get you guys patched up,” he decided, scrubbing at his face in annoyance.

The men got into the car and reluctantly drove off, leaving Idris behind. The other angel would have to wait.

 

__________________________

 

 

 


	11. Angels: Dicks that want you dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will goes after angel number 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any mistakes. I'm posting this in a rush.

Dean checked them into a hotel and shuttled the bleeding men into a room. Sam rushed to the hotel bathroom to inspect the damage for himself before his brother had a chance to go all “mother hen” on him. Cas meanwhile sat shakily in a chair, his hand clamped tight over his own wound. Dean pulled a small metal box out of his duffel, popping it open to reveal gauze and a sewing kit. Dean threw a clean rag at Cas, who caught it with his bloody hand.

Sam walked out of the bathroom a few moments later, dabbing at the blood dripping down his neck with a wad of toilet paper. _“IT’S NOT THAT BAD,”_ Sam yelled to the others.

Dean nodded in relief, then turned his attention back to Cas. “Let me see,” Dean urged and both Sam and Dean helped Cas get out of his suit jacket. Sam inspected the large blood stain and slashed material and binned the article, while Dean started to curse: Cas’ white button-down was soaked in blood from his shoulder to his elbow, and its wearer was starting to look pale.

As Cas attempted to gingerly unbutton the shirt, Dean found a pair of scissors in the pocket of his duffel. He rushed over to his injured boyfriend and began to cut the fabric from his body. Sam scrambled for the sewing kit, pulling the flask of vodka Dean kept strictly for sterilization from the bottom of his duffel.

“Dean, this is not necessary,” Cas started wearily.

“Shaddup, you’re bleeding out. Move your hand.”

Cas complied, revealing the deep cut. Dean tossed the scissors on the nearby table and gestured impatiently for the flask. Sam handed it over, trying to avoid the whirling dervish of fierce concern that was his brother as he came closer with the threaded needle.

“This is gonna hurt,” Dean warned and immediately poured the liquid onto the wound. Cas let out a loud curse and Dean reluctantly stepped aside to let Sam work. His stitches were always closer and straighter than Dean’s – if law school didn’t work out, Sam had thought about going to medical school. Well, before all this happened, anyway.

Sam began to stitch the skin shut, Cas’ eyes glassy as he tightened his grip on the bloody rag. When Sam had finished, the line neat and even, Dean grabbed the rag and held it underneath as he poured a bit more alcohol on the wound. Cas’ hands gripped his own thighs tightly, his breath coming out labored. As it evaporated off his skin, the chilled surface began to feel numb. Dean dabbed the stitches dry before he wrapped the area in gauze. The look of determination on Dean’s face filled Cas with a strange sense of awe as he watched the man work.

Sam went to the bathroom to wash up and Dean gently stroked Cas’ cheek. “You okay?”

Cas nodded shakily, his gaze going to the orange bottle of pills sticking out of Dean’s duffle. “Sammy, bring us some water,” Dean ordered as he grabbed them and uncapped the bottle. He took the proffered water from Sam’s hand and ordered, “Open up.”

Cas shook his head. “Didn’t you want these?” Dean asked.

“The pain will keep me sharp,” Cas argued.

Dean eyed the man warily. “I’d give you some booze, but I don’t want you to bleed more.”

Cas shook his head.

“What about that speech, about not letting pain consume you? Was that all just bullshit?”

Cas wanted to argue, but he felt himself getting sleepy. His head was spinning, and before he knew it, he was asleep. Dean watched his boyfriend pass out in the chair and his stomach flopped worriedly. He pulled the other man to standing and dragged him over to the empty bed. Sam made a comment about being wiped out and reclined on one of the beds. By the time Dean tucked Cas into the other bed, Sam was out.

Dean finished tucking Cas into bed and elevated his arm. “Just rest, Cas. You’ll be okay.” Dean threw out the bloodied clothes and rag and went to wash up. He’d rubbed most of it on the ruined shirt, but he definitely wasn’t going into town with dried blood under his fingernails. Once he looked presentable enough, he made a final sweep of the room and headed out. They needed more supplies… and pie. After today, they all deserved it.

________

 

When Dean got back to the hotel room, Sam was sitting up, typing on his laptop. He didn’t look up at the sound of Dean entering the room or when Dean muttered a “Hey Sammy.”

He walked closer and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “You okay?” he asked quietly, since he noticed Cas was still sleeping.

“WHAT?” Sam asked, and the loud exclamation made Cas stir but he didn’t open his eyes.

Dean took the notepad from the end table and wrote:

WE’RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL. YOUR EARS ARE SHOT.

 

“I’M FINE!” Sam insisted and with this, Cas opened his eyes.

When Cas made a small pained noise, Dean turned his attention to the man. “Dean, why is he yelling?”

“Sammy’s deaf because of your buddy back there. We gotta see a doctor,” Dean replied louder than he had intended.

“’M NOT DEAF!” Sam protested, this time just under a yell.

“ _THIS IS NOT A NEGOTIATION_ ,” Dean retorted harshly, pulling his brother to standing.

Sam made a petulant noise but put his laptop away and Dean gently helped Cas to standing. “Come on, Cas. We gotta make sure the stubborn moose is okay.”

Cas cradled his hurt arm as Dean zipped up a jacket over his naked torso. He prodded the two into the impala and tore out of the parking lot. When they stopped at the town’s only hospital, he shuttled the protesting men inside. Dean yelled at the bored triage receptionist and was stuck filling out paperwork with fake names. Whether the hospital was unusually deserted or they were just lucky, by the time Dean finished Cas’ paperwork, they were calling Sam or rather, “Ronald Templeton”.

“Rock Concert” Dean texted Sam, although he didn’t know why. The man was deaf, not dumb. He’d figure out something to tell them. There was no text back, but Dean had to stay with Cas: he would give the whole operation away if a nurse asked the right questions.

“Chuck Wesson?” the attendee asked. Dean prodded Cas to stand up and the two followed the man in powder-blue scrubs. He left the two men in an exam room, a stack of year-old magazines on the table next to the lone free chair their only source of entertainment. After an hour’s wait, the doctor finally knocked on the door. Dean then painted a picture of an imaginary mugging, while Cas nodded along. While he spoke, the woman prodded at Cas, eventually cutting Dean off.

“Who stitched you up?”

“His brother,” Cas replied, then blanched at his own candor. _Would Dean be mad? Had they given away too much?_

“He’s an EMT in training,” Dean added quickly.

“Well, you should thank him. This is one of the better amateur jobs I’ve seen.”

Cas nodded in thanks when she handed him a prescription. Dean looked at the paper quizzically but said nothing. By the time they got back to the waiting room, a sling on Cas’ arm, Sam had a large stack of old, already-read magazines next to him.

“TOOK YOU GUYS LONG ENOUGH.”

“So is this permanent?” Dean asked loudly, ushering them all out of the waiting room.

“DOC SAYS I WON’T BE ABLE TO HEAR HIGH-PITCHED NOISES ANYMORE,” Sam responded. “SHE SAID IF MY HEARING DOESN’T GO BACK TO NORMAL IN A FEW DAYS, I GOTTA GET A HEARING AID.” He waved a piece of paper. “GOT SOME SLEEEPING PILLS FOR THE RINGING THOUGH.”

“Wow, they’re just giving those out,” Dean commented, gesturing to the slip of paper Cas held in his hands.

“IT’S BECAUSE WE _DIDN’T_ ASK,” Sam remarked. Dean just made a face at his brother and started the car. They’d get an early start on the next angel tomorrow.

________

 

The next morning, Dean woke up early – his bed was unusually cold. He looked around, but didn’t see Cas. He felt a quick spike of panic and turned to make sure Sam was still there. The big galoot was sleeping, drooling onto his pillow. Another glance around the room revealed the bathroom door was closed. Dean heard a low groan come from behind it. He got up from the bed and padded over. Gently rapping on the door, he asked, “Cas, you okay?”

Cas feebly answered, “I’m fine,” but Dean didn’t buy it. He pushed his way into the bathroom to find Cas gingerly cleaning his wound at the sink. “Did you take the pills?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bottle of Vicodin sitting on the ledge.

“Don’t … need them. Narcotics dull reaction time.” Cas clearly expected the next angel encounter to go as the last had.

“You know what makes you slower than that?” Cas looked at Dean expectantly. “Being in crippling pain,” he stressed. He picked up the roll of gauze that sat next to the pills and began to wrap Cas up. When he finished, Dean locked gazes with Cas’ stubborn reflection and ordered, _“Take the_ _damn pills.”_

Cas moved his shoulder to test his range of motion and winced. He sighed and dumped a single pill into his hand. Dean watched him take it, then kissed Cas’ temple. “I gotta go wake up Sammy.”

The alarm on Sam’s phone had been going off for the last five minutes. The younger Winchester had not thought this far ahead last night – he’d filled his prescription, taken a pill and passed out. Dean began tickling underneath Sam’s chin – it was a surefire way to wake him up.

Sam began to twitch and tried to scrunch his neck up. He opened his eyes and a bark of laughter escaped his throat. As he focused his vision, he clamped his hand around Dean’s, removing the offending sensation. “I ASKED YOU NOT TO DO THAT,” Sam stated loudly, but still quieter than he was the day before.

Dean wrote another note on the notepad:

Your stupid phone’s been going off for the last 5 minutes. Fix it.

 

Sam swiped the phone off of the nightstand and jabbed his finger at it a few times. Cas finally walked out of the bathroom, clutching the pill bottle tightly. His gaze was far away, and he didn’t answer the first time Dean called his name. _“CAS!”_

Cas jumped and finally looked up. “Yes, Dean?”

“He’s got an excuse, but what’s with you?” Dean finished buttoning his dress shirt and began looping a tie around his neck. Cas just shook his head and replied, “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you needed help getting dressed, so we can see this other angel.”

Cas nodded and put the orange bottle down on the nightstand.

After dressing, the boys packed up quickly and headed for the next town. They pulled out Charlie’s map and formed a plan of attack: “Okay, here’s the deal: We stick together this time. Only one angel to find and we need to be on our toes. I still can’t believe there’s a Manhattan, Kansas. Did no one tell them that name was already taken?”

Cas was _finally_ starting to understand what rhetorical questions were, so a few minutes of silence filled the car instead. “We’ll start at K State, and work our way out.”

As Dean drove, Sam typed out a quick text. A minute later, Cas felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

_You’re not going to tell him what the angel said?_

Cas stared down at the phone and scowled, before texting back:

_Idris was lying._

Sam looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the conflicted look on Cas’ face. He looked down at his phone, considered sending another text. In the end, he just looked out the window.

_______

 

Much sooner than expected, the boys found themselves passing a sign that read: Manhattan City Limits.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot at Kansas State University, Cas felt a tight knot in his stomach. He took a deep breath and ignored it, his hand instead closing over the hilt of the angel blade in his borrowed suit jacket. The heavy, cold metal felt soothing in his palm and grounded him. He shook his head when Dean offered to help him out of the car, a new unpleasant feeling overtaking the previous one. As the men walked side by side, Dean was chattering away about “the game plan.” Cas knew talking when he was anxious was just something Dean did, so he let his mind wander. If he was completely honest with himself, the pill he’d taken had barely taken the edge off of his pain. He suddenly stopped, halting at a sign that read “All Faiths Chapel.”

“Dean,” Cas pointed to the sign, “here.”

Dean pulled the map out of his pocket and looked down at it, then up at the building in front of them. “Cas, this isn’t _anywhere_ _near_ the circle.”

“Please just… just trust me on this.” Cas looked pleadingly at Dean until he finally assented.

“Fine. But when we only find the standard issue bible-thumpers in there, expect an ‘I told you so’.”

Cas nodded in understanding and the three ducked into the doorway. Once inside, they looked around quizzically. What would an angel in disguise look like, exactly?

Sam scanned the back few rows, searching the area for the student who was likely in charge. Dean made his way down the middle aisle, stopping at the small alter at the front. A young man was on his knees, praying fervently while muttering under his breath. “Father… deliver me… cleanse the wicked… do not forsake us… humanity is unsalvageable…”

_Yep,_ Dean thought, _that’ll be him._

The young man had his eyes screwed up tightly, and therefore didn’t notice when Dean sank to his knees next to him. Dean sent a text to Cas and Sam, who met him quickly. Sam sat in the first pew while Cas kneeled on the other side of the kid.

If Dean hadn’t known the man was being possessed by an angel, he would’ve thought the twenty-something was a drug addict: the kid’s hair was a frizzy, black shag that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in days, and he was thinner than he should be; his skin looked clammy and sallow, his eyes unfocused and watery; he shook as he tried to keep quiet, tried to control his gestures.

Dean didn’t know where to start, what he could say that wouldn’t freak the whole congregation out. Sam wordlessly got up and began slowly shuttling people out the door. The fervent prayer never ceased as Sam shuttled the first few rows out the door. A few stragglers were seated in the back pew, but before Sam could get to them, Sam felt his jacket pocket buzz.

_Leave them. We need you up here._

Cas seemed to have a plan and began to mimic prayer: “Father, an injustice was brought upon the angels. Please, see that they are safe.”

The young man’s eyes popped open at the words and he stared at Castiel incredulously. “What do _you_ know of angels?” The young man spat out.

“I know how Metatron banished them,” he replied, nonplussed.

“Metatron and Castiel worked together to rule heaven alone!”

“How can one rule without subjects?” Cas asked.

The young man peered at Castiel closely and gasped. “It is _you_ … I wasn’t sure, I don’t – where is Metatron?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Cas replied. “Without my grace, my ability to sense another angel is gone.”

“Without your grace, you’re not an angel at all,” the kid scoffed, his eyes beginning to glow blue.

Cas winced at the words, and replied, “I suppose I deserve that.”

“You deserve that and so much more! Idris warned you might come for me, said you’re some sort of abomination now… _Well, if you want to kill me, you’re going to have to try harder!_ ”

His hand went to the prayer bench in front of him and he gripped tight, jumping back onto his feet quickly. An angel blade fell from his shirt sleeve into his hand as Dean and Cas righted themselves. He thrust the blade wildly, swiping at the empty air between him and Cas. _“Fight, you coward!”_

“Brother, please –”

“I am _no_ brother of yours! Your crimes against heaven will not go unpunished!” He thrust the blade with purpose now, noticing the sling around Cas’ arm. As the blade made contact with his forearm Cas cried out, withdrawing his angel blade with his good arm. Dean surged forward, another angel blade at the ready. The angel spun around quickly and locked eyes with Dean. “You swear allegiance to the wrong cause, human!” He took a few steps towards him and continued, “You shall be made example of.”

He easily blocked Dean’s thrust of the blade and brought his own dangerously close to Dean’s throat. The bright blue glow in his eyes was temporarily hidden as he blinked hard, pinning the younger Winchester to the chapel wall. He turned his full attention back to Dean, slicing under his jaw carefully. He seemed to be carving a symbol when Cas screamed, _“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM DEAN!”_

He ran forward, slashing the man in the lower torso. He whipped around angrily, Dean now falling to the floor with his hand around his neck. “So you would choose this human over your own kind?” His eyes narrowed at the bloody blade in Cas’ hand as he growled, “Humanity has corrupted you, Castiel, and you cannot be saved. Surrender!”

_“NO!”_ Cas replied, taking another step towards the angel.

“Cas…” Dean sputtered weakly.

The angel blinked hard, and Cas felt his sling break, and his stitches unravel. He cried out, the pain nearly blinding him. As his knees began to buckle, he staggered forward once more.

“You’ve been beaten, Castiel. Say goodbye to your filthy human.”

Dean’s eyes widened as the man waved a hand and Cas’ angel blade clattered across the floor. He slowly sank to his knees, his hand clamped over the reopened wound. Sam struggled helplessly against the wall. As the angel raised his own angel blade over his head, Dean shouted hoarsely, “SHUT YOUR EYES!”

Sam shut his eyes tightly, and as Dean buried his angel blade in the back of the angel’s neck, Cas followed suit. The angel dropped his own blade, his hands going to the silvery, blood-covered object protruding from his own neck. Dean screwed his eyes up tight just in time: a blast of pure white light shone from the angel’s eyes and mouth, accompanied by a high-pitched noise. A shockwave shot out from the angel, shattering the stain-glass windows of the chapel. Another pulse of light followed, and as the being collapsed on the floor, the imprint of a pair of mangled wings appeared on the floor.

Cas heard the far-off sound of a woman screaming before his vision went dark. Sam fell to the ground and rushed to the others’ sides. Dean was trying to sputter something out, but he neck was beginning to bleed badly. He saw his brother’s face go pale before he crumpled in a heap, arm protectively covering Cas as the other reached for his brother.

Sam stabbed at his phone: “Nine – one – one, what is your emergency?”

Sam didn’t hear the operator, didn’t register he was yelling, “KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY, ALL FAITHS CHAPEL. BRING AMBULANCES. _HURRY!_ ”

_______________________________________________________________


	12. What can and can't be fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are rushed to the emergency room; Sam and the rest of the new Winchester family worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, everyone. I know I left the last chapter on a cliffhanger, but this is the part of the story that I'm still writing. Please bear with me, and thank you everyone for your patience and support. I also would like to make a disclaimer here: If my writing comes off at all insensitive to the hearing-impaired, I sincerely apologize. That was not my intent in the slightest, and I promise this issue will be dealt with in a more serious way in an upcoming chapter.

The younger Winchester looked around – the students had since run out in horror. He took Dean’s keys from his pocket, knowing Dean would murder him if “Baby” was impounded. He had enough presence of mind to pick up Cas and Dean’s angel blades and hide them in the knife holsters at his calves. No sooner had he secreted them away than the front door to the chapel opened: Three paramedics rushed in, pushing stretchers. As the men stopped in front of the prone bodies, Sam explained, “THOSE TWO ARE STILL ALIVE!” 

The men looked to the three men on the ground, and noticed that the two that were still shallowly breathing lay in puddles of their own blood.

“Sir, are you the one that called?”

Sam knew the smallest bit of lip-reading and managed to make out the last word of the paramedic’s sentence. “YEAH. THE BLONDE IS ‘A NEGATIVE’ AND THE BRUNETTE IS ‘O NEGATIVE’.”

“YOU SURE?” The paramedic asked. The man noticed the shattered glass windows and came to the conclusion that the screaming man in front of him was nearly deaf.

“POSITIVE. _PLEASE DON’T LET THEM DIE!_ ”

While Sam and the paramedic spoke, the other two loaded Dean and Cas onto stretchers. The paramedic gestured for Sam to follow him and relayed into his walkie, “Call the police. We’ve got a body here.”

Sam pointed to Cas and shouted again, “‘O NEGATIVE’!”

He climbed into the ambulance with Dean and worked on holding the stretcher steady as the paramedic started two IV lines: one with ‘A Negative’ blood, and a saline drip. In less than 10 minutes, the ambulances were parking at the emergency entrance of the hospital.

_Thank god for teaching hospitals,_ Sam thought.

The paramedic raced the gurney along the corridor, while Sam kept pace. “Two stabbing victims; this man called us.”

_“I’M HIS BROTHER,”_ Sam yelled when one of the orderlies tried to usher him to the waiting room.

The orderly backed off and as the doctors stopped the gurney, Sam managed to catch his breath. The attendees shifted Dean to a hospital bed and a weary-looking doctor told the two male nurses with him, “Prep O.R. Four, STAT.”

As the men hurried off, Sam asked “HE NEEDS SURGERY?”

“Sir, please don’t yell. This is a hospital, not a rock concert.”

Sam worked on schooling his voice into something quieter, until he couldn’t hear himself: “Is he going to die?”

_Please say no. I can’t lose him, not again._

“We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” the doctor replied, noticing the way Sam came forward and angled his ear closer to the man’s mouth. “Son, is your hearing impaired?”

Sam nodded and met the man’s eyes guiltily. “I apologize for my earlier statement then.” A nurse walked up to the doctor quickly and she spoke to him for a moment before thrusting a clipboard at Sam. He signed the release forms and the two male nurses from earlier appeared, and began wheeling Dean’s bed down the corridor. Sam made a motion to follow but was stopped by the nurse with the clipboard.

She nearly yelled, “I’m sorry, you can’t follow” and Sam finally let himself be escorted to the waiting room.

He rushed up to the receptionist. “THERE WAS ANOTHER MAN ADMITTED TO THE E.R. WITH MY BROTHER. IS HE OKAY?”

 “Are you family, sir?”

“He’s my brother-in-law,” Sam replied, quieter this time. It was close enough to the truth, he figured.

The woman typed on the computer in front of her for a minute and finally replied, “He’s in O.R. two. I don’t know any more than that, I’m sorry.”

Sam let a breath of relief and thanked her. He walked outside the front doors and dialed Charlie’s number. “CHARLIE? IT’S SAM.”

“Sam? Is everything okay? Why are you yelling?”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, BUT I NEED YOU AND KEVIN TO LEAVE FOR MANHATTAN, KANSAS _NOW_. DEAN AND CAS ARE IN THE HOSPITAL.”

Charlie said something worried in reply, but Sam couldn’t make it out. He ended the call and texted the address of the hospital. He took another deep breath and headed back into the waiting room. Now all he could do was pray…

______

Kevin and Charlie rushed through the doors to the teaching hospital, where a distraught-looking Sam sat gripping his phone tightly in the waiting room. His gazed was fixed on the door to the E.R. area, so he didn’t notice them until they stood in front of him. Charlie and Kevin each hugged Sam in turn before Charlie asked “What happened?”

Sam stared back at her blankly. Charlie pulled out her phone and spoke into it, before turning the screen to Sam.

_What happened?_

Sam answered by text, his throat sore from yelling:

_Fight with angel. Got both Dean and Cas. They’re in surgery._

She nodded and talked into the phone again:

_Are they going to be okay?_

_I hope so – they’ve both been in surgery for_ _an hour._

Kevin looked from Sam to Charlie and back again. Finally, Kevin asked her, “What’s going on? What’d he say?”

Charlie blushed at her absentmindedness, and showed Kevin the texts. After he read them, he asked her, “Is there anything we can do?”

_Can we help?_

Sam shook his head grimly, and Charlie’s jaw wobbled as she sat down next to Sam’s chair. Kevin stared off at the E.R. door and when he turned back to face the others, his eyes were glassy. He clenched his jaw tightly, fearing the worst as he sat down on the other side of Sam. After awhile, Sam followed suit, clasping hands with the two.

Eventually, the doctor from before walked through the door wearing a set of green scrubs: “Mr. Templeton?” the man asked loudly and Sam ignored the quizzical looks of the others as he stood.

He walked over to the man, and after typing a quick message, he handed his cell phone to him:

_Talk into here._

“We’ve just finished surgery on your brother Jake. It was touch and go for awhile – he lost a lot of blood and had a severed vocal fold nerve that we repaired. He won’t be able to talk for awhile without it causing him tremendous pain. Luckily, the blade missed anything major, so we expect a full recovery. His voice might be a little higher than before, however.”

Sam read the message and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “THANK YOU, DOCTOR. _THANK YOU SO MUCH!_ ”

Before the doctor knew what hit him, Sam had him in a tight embrace. The man stiffened at the unexpected touch and gently patted Sam’s back before loudly clearing his throat. Sam backed off sheepishly and typed into the phone,

_What about the other man? The one in O.R. 2?_

The doctor read it and answered, “The surgery is still in progress. He took a while to stabilize and they had to call in a micro-surgeon, as well wait for the other neurosurgeon to get here; I was the only one on-call. We’ll let you know as soon as they’re finished.”

_Can I see my brother?_

“Not yet, he’s being moved into a room. You’ll be notified as soon as he’s allowed visitors.”

Sam took his phone back, read it, and nodded. He thanked the doctor again and turned back to the others. Wordlessly, he handed his phone to Charlie, who then passed it to Kevin. Sam sat with his head in his hands until Kevin offered his smart phone back to him.

He ticked away on it for a minute and handed it to Charlie:

_You guys asked before if you could help. I need you to get the Impala from the university._

Sam handed the keys to Charlie and she nodded disbelievingly. Once the two left, Sam finally let himself cry.

_______

When Charlie and Kevin pulled up, the chapel parking lot was surrounded by squad cars and an ambulance was closing its doors, a sheet-covered figure on the gurney inside. They walked quickly until they found the impala and then Charlie tossed Kevin her keys. “Meet you back at the hospital.”

Kevin nodded and took off for the yellow hatchback, while Charlie slipped into the driver seat of the sleek black muscle car. She gulped and adjusted the seat, shaky hands moving the mirror. She buckled up and, with a scarce breath, she started the car.

Back at the hospital, Sam was beginning to get more and more worried. It had been another hour since Charlie and Kevin left, and he paced the waiting room frantically, ignoring the stares of the other two people sitting in the corner. Another doctor came out, this one also dressed in green scrubs, and Sam stood up expectantly. “Mrs. Figueroa?”

The woman in the corner stood, grabbing her husband’s hand as they made their way towards him. Sam sank back down into his chair miserably, anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

When Kevin and Charlie finally walked back through the doors, he gestured them back outside. They followed, and Sam pulled the blades from his holsters, thrusting them into Kevin’s hands. “Hide these in the trunk,” he instructed, not sure if he’d actually spoken until Kevin nodded.

Charlie handed him Baby’s keys and he tucked them under his sweatshirt as he made his way to the impala. Sam and Charlie walked back inside just in time to see a confused-looking attendee call, “Wesson?”

Sam made his way to the man and grabbed Charlie. He handed the orderly his phone and the man nodded slowly. “Mr. Wesson just left surgery. He required 3 transfusions, had a concussion, and lacerated his stitches. The micro-surgeon did his best, but there was slight irreparable damage. A nerve was severely damaged; repairing such a thing is never exact.”

“What does that mean?” Charlie asked uncertainly.

“He may have pain or loss of sensation in cold. He’s been moved to the I.C.U. Due to his condition, he can’t have visitors yet.”

He stared down at the message disbelievingly and texted,

_But he’ll live?_

“Yes,” the man responded into the phone, “Chuck will live.”

Charlie thanked the man profusely and after Sam read the message, he pulled her into a tight hug.

_They’d be okay… thank God._

The two were headed back to their seats when the nurse with the clipboard emerged. “Templeton?” she called loudly.

Charlie turned and pulled Sam along with her. When they got to the woman Charlie explained, “He’s hard of hearing. Could you just talk into here please?” She handed the phone off and updated everyone on Dean’s condition before handing it back and turning on her heel.

_Mr. Templeton is stable and able to receive visitors now. He’s conscious, but don’t let him talk to you. He’s maxed out his morphine for the hour already._

Sam read it and rushed to the receptionist. He had Charlie explain the situation and before he knew it, Sam was being shuttled away from the others by an orderly. _Wait for me_ , Sam texted.

When he reached the door to his brother’s room he rushed through it, anxiety welling in his throat as he took in the sight: Dean lay on the hospital bed, an oxygen tube through his nose and a watery look in his eyes. A large gauze bandage was taped over his throat and his cheek was bruised a deep purple. Although the area around his neck was clean, his hands were still covered in dried blood and his bottom lip was split, blood crusted onto the corners of his mouth. He gave a weak smile at the sight of his younger brother and just returned the fierce hug Sam gave him. Although Sam couldn’t hear the sharp intake of breath, he knew he’d accidentally hurt Dean by the way the man suddenly stiffened. When Sam drew back, he noticed a pad of paper on Dean’s lap. Dean flipped it over, took a marker from his side table and wrote, _Bitch._

_Jerk,_ Sam replied, handing his phone to Dean. The elder Winchester smiled at that, ignoring the way it stung and wrote, _So you’re deaf and I’m mute now. Guess all of our lucky breaks had to end sometime._

Sam gave a resigned laugh and patted his shoulder. Dean looked away for a minute and his hand shook slightly as he wrote, _And Cas?_

_He’s alive. Just got out of surgery._

Dean read it and breathed a sigh of relief. _Can I see him?_ he wrote back.

Sam shook his head, and responded, _Not yet._

He texted, _Kevin and Charlie are here. Do you want to see them?_

Dean looked down at his lap for a moment and lightly touched the bandage on his throat. His lips quirked down into a frown before he looked back up at his younger brother. The events from the day had drained him. Almost dying was sure to do that to a guy.

_Sure_ , he wrote on the notepad. Dean smiled smugly as he showed Sam the note. As Sam turned on his heel, he couldn’t help but notice that Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

                                                                                     ____________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to get this out sooner, but I've had quite a tumultuous weekend: The SPN ChiCon didn't have wi-fi and neither did the friends I was staying with. But it was a great weekend and I got Misha Collins himself to sign a cover page for this series; he even wrote me an encouragement to keep writing! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I intend to get the next chapter out sometime next week. Thanks for reading!


	13. Broken but still Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean finally see Castiel, and Cas opens up about what Idris said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a long time in coming - too long. Long story short, I got consumed by schoolwork and had minor surgery. I don't know when the next chapter will be out after this, but I can promise it won't be as long of a wait next time. I apologize to all my readers, and I'm sorry this is so short - I've had major writer's block on top of everything else. Again, I hope this doesn't come off as insensitive to the hearing or speech-impaired.

  While Sam brought the others into the room, across the hospital Cas was just starting to wake up. He was not new to this experience, waking up in a hospital. His time as a human had accustomed him to the feeling of unfamiliarity brought about by waking up in a strange place. But what he wasn’t used to was the sling around his arm, or the burning pain he felt underneath his bandages. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but found that it only exacerbated the feeling. He cursed under his breath and got himself to an upright position, before using his good arm to slam the red call button. Not a minute later, a nurse jogged into the room, clutching her stethoscope with both hands. She stopped at the bed and grabbed his chart before looking at him.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked in a Southern drawl.

  “Arm… on fire, hurts…” Cas was surprised to find that talking tired him so easily. The nurse went over to the machine located on his bedside and inserted a key into it. She pushed the button once and locked it. “There, there sweetie… You should feel better soon.”

  Cas felt the pain lessen and before he knew it, he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

______________

  Dean eventually had to fake sleep just to get the others out of his room. His stomach twisted in nervous knots, thinking about Cas in the ICU. He wanted to _do_ something, dammit. He was fuzzy from the morphine, but he vaguely registered Sam telling him the two had nearly died. It seemed weird to think about now; as his fingers ghosted over the bandage on his neck, he didn't _feel_ like he'd narrowly escaped death. The longer he thought about it, the more his face twisted into an angry snarl. That fucking angel had nearly cost both men their lives. He got a sick sense of pleasure from knowing he'd been the one to put that bitch's lights out. The feeling extinguished when he realized he’d also killed a _guy_. That holly roller had been wearing a meat suit, after all. He imagined Cas pale and weak against his hospital bed and it made bile rise in his throat.

  The idiot. He was so determined to make things right, to prove that he wasn't the villain everyone else assumed him to be. Now the two of them were laid up in the goddamn hospital and poor Sammy had his ears blown to shit. And for what? So that _one_ angel believed them?

  He took a deep breath and tried to relax. When the wave of anger that threatened to drown him receded, he felt a choking feeling in his throat. Before he registered what was happening, he was wordlessly sobbing. He'd almost lost – Fuck... _everything_.

 

\-----------

 

  A few days passed and the real police came and went. Sam asked constantly but no one could see Cas. After four days, he was moved from the ICU. Cas stopped slipping in and out of consciousness and could finally speak to the nurses in a voice that didn't sound quite so wounded. Every time a new employee came into his room he asked "Where's Dean?"

  After the fifth day, they told Dean he could go home. Dean's eyes widened in shock. He still hadn't seen Cas. He'd weaned himself off of the pain-killers and was clear-headed enough to write on his pad _What about Chuck?_

  He'd almost written “Cas” and it killed him how passive this method of communicating was. The nurse handed him a copy of his discharge papers and replied "You'll have to check at the front desk. I don't have a patient with that name on my rotation."

  Dean nodded solemnly and changed into the set of clothes Sam had brought for him. Sam was waiting outside the room, pacing back and forth. He'd asked about Cas earlier that day and gotten nowhere. Would Dean's luck be any better? For both their sakes, he sure hoped so.

  At the checkout desk, Dean slapped his notepad against the clerk's window, startling the harried woman. _Jake Templeton_ _checking_ _out,_ it read.

  She squinted up at the note and began to type. When she found a sheet of paper on her desk she replied, _Okay, you're free to go._

  Dean read it and wrote, _I can hear, just not talk. What room is Chuck Wesson in? I need to see him._

  "I'm sorry," she replied, "but I can't give out that kind of information."

  Dean was starting to feel panicked. Did he remember to include himself and Sam in "Chuck's” family list? _WE'RE FAMILY,_ he wrote back.

  "I'm sorry, but our file says he has no next of kin."

  Dean felt himself blushing but was able to control the urge to scream at the obstinate woman when he touched the bandage on his throat. He didn't know what else to do. With a shaky hand he wrote, _He's my husband._

  He hated lying but after the stunt Sam had pulled, why not continue the charade? His only other option was to sneak into the hospital. And without any idea of where Cas was, that proved too difficult.

  "Oh," the woman responded icily. "The state of Kansas doesn't recognize civil unions."

   Sam stood awkwardly off to the side during this exchange. However, at the woman's statement, he spoke up. "But the United States government does, and I doubt you'll want them to get involved." He knew it was a bluff, but they could always whip out the FBI badges if necessary.

  The woman sneered, clacking away on her keyboard when Dean noticed it – the woman was wearing a wedding ring. He hurriedly wrote, _Think about how upset you'd be if your husband was hurt and you couldn't see him?_

  The woman's expression seemed to soften for a moment before she looked at his file again. "He's not listed as married."

  Sam sighed and retorted, "Did you tell your doctor as soon as you got married? Or did you wait until your next physical?"

  The woman responded, "I suppose you have a point. Do you have your marriage license?"

  Dean scoffed wordlessly. _Do you have yours?_ He countered.

_“I'm wearing my ring,”_ she argued.

_I lost mine during the accident_ , Dean replied off the cuff. He flipped the page. _Look, I know Kansas is a conservative state. But I just want to visit, that's all. PLEASE._

 The woman sighed and looked back at the computer screen. “I shouldn't be doing this…” she muttered. “He's in room 302.”

  _THANK YOU_ , Dean wrote. Sam echoed the comment and the two headed for the elevator.

 When Dean burst through the door, he couldn't help but exclaim "Cas!" His eyes widened when he realized just how fucking much that hurt. It also didn't help that his voice had come out so raspy, it was if he had not spoken at all. He rushed over to the bed and smiled when a groggy Castiel looked up at him. Dean stroked Cas' cheek and opened his mouth to speak again when Sam handed Dean's notepad to him.

 Dean swiped it with consternation and wrote _You okay?_

 Cas slowly sat up in bed and cocked his head to the side as he read the message. “Dean, what's wrong?”

 “That guy's angel blade nicked his voice box. He can't talk for a few weeks.” Sam kept it down to a dull roar, knowing he'd been heard when Cas nodded.

 Dean gathered Cas in a hug and pressed his lips against the other man’s neck. From behind them, they heard Sam clear his throat. Dean took a second to glare at his brother and Cas grinned back sheepishly. Dean reluctantly pulled away to write, _If you don’t like it, wait in the hall._

 “No way,” Sam retorted. “I’m just as worried about Cas as you are. Cas, are you okay? Is your arm broken?”

  Cas shook his head and replied, “I seem to have damaged my peripheral nerves. My hand loses feeling quite frequently.”

  Dean squared his shoulders and hurriedly wrote, _It’ll be okay, Cas. Let’s go home._

  Cas crawled to the foot of his bed and took the chart that was clipped there. “I can’t leave here, Dean. It says I’m cleared tomorrow.”

  Dean slapped his hand on the nearby wall and wrote, _We’ll see about that._

He grabbed Sam by the arm and lugged him down the hall until they ran into a doctor. Dean gestured exaggeratedly to the man and Sam quickly typed on his phone:

  _Hi, sorry to bother you. I have a hearing impairment and my brother’s not allowed to speak as part of his rehab. We need you to clear a patient to check out with us. His name is Chuck Wesson._

“Son, I’m sorry for your communication disabilities, but I can’t just clear a patient to leave. He’s not even my patient.” The man tried to walk away, but Sam blocked his path.

_Please, he’s my brother’s husband and today’s the first day they’ve been able to see each other in a week. He’s cleared to leave tomorrow. Bumping it up a day so they can spend time with their loved ones isn’t that big a deal, is it?_

The doctor raised his eyebrows as he read the message and then looked straight at Dean. “Sir, where’s your partner?”

Dean wrote, _Room 302_ on the notepad and the man nodded. In a low, conspiratorial voice he said, “I’ll have to check his chart, but I feel for you man. If I didn’t work here, I wouldn’t have been able to see my partner either.”

Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, relief washing over his features.

The boys led the man to Cas’ bed, and the man pulled the clipboard close. “Hmm… It seems they have you weaned down to the bare minimum on painkillers… How’s your arm?”

Cas jerked his head up and replied, “Uh, it’s fine. I’ve uh… had worse.”

The man nodded and asked apprehensively, “Do you need Doctor Howard to write you any prescriptions?”

Cas shook his head. “I’ll be okay. Can I leave?”

“Yes, I’ll sign off on your release. I’m going to recommend that you follow up with a physical therapist, Mr. Wesson. That hand’s going to need a lot of attention and time to have any chance of regaining full function.”

“I understand,” Cas replied, looking down at his currently-numb hand. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Just doing my part. Us queer folk have to stick together,” he replied with a perfunctory nod. The man gave a knowing nod to Dean and, as an afterthought, one to Sam, and left the room.

Dean turned to Cas. _Come on, Cas. Let’s blow this taco stand._                                                                               

Cas gave him a half-hearted smile, but made no move to leave. “Dean, wait. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Dean stopped throwing the drawers open, having been on the look-out for a spare set of clothes. He stepped closer and wrote, _What is it, Cas?_

“Dean,” he started, “something… something Idris said…”

_What’s that?_ Dean replied, his attention turning from the dresser to Cas slowly.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but –” Cas started and stopped, looking away.

 

_Should I not burden Dean with this?_

_What if Idris was lying?_

_What if it didn’t mean anything?_

_What if –_

_Yeah, Cas?_ Dean’s full attention was on Cas now.

“Idris said a small part of my grace still burns within me. He said it’s barely there, but it is what is allowing me to remain in my body.”

_What?_ Dean walked toward Castiel, and handed him the notepad. _How would he know that?_

“Angels can see the grace of other angels, just as they can see the souls of humans. I lost too much of my power to see them after the fall. But these angels retain their powers, but for their wings.”

_SAMMY_ , Dean wrote angrily, thrusting the pad at his startled brother, _is that what happened?_

“He might have been a dick, but he didn’t seem like he was lying, Dean,” Sam replied.

Dean sat down on the chair near Cas’ unmade bed, looking up at Cas.

This would change things: Cas would want to seek out the other angels to rejoin them now, not just apologize. He’d doubt the inevitable humanity he’d been acquiring. If there was a way, he’d want to go back to Heaven…

Cas stood from the bed, and cradled the man’s chin. Dean looked up at him, his green eyes glassy. _You should’ve told me._

Dean swatted the man’s hand away, his expression hardening. Cas’ eyebrows knit in confusion. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

_REALLY?_ Dean scribbled furiously. _YOU DON’T THINK THAT MAYBE THAT’S SOMETHING I’D WANT TO KNOW?_

Cas tilted his head to the side. “It didn’t seem important, since it doesn’t change anything…”

Dean stood abruptly, and hit the wall. He opened his mouth to speak but saw Sam out of the corner of his eye rapidly shaking his head. He pointed a finger at his brother and walked towards him. He wrote on the pad and thumped it against the man’s chest and looked back at him defiantly. _You KNEW and you didn’t tell me?_

“Dean… I don’t get it. Why does it matter if Cas still has some of his grace?”

Dean snatched the pad back, tearing the full page off before writing, _What is it with you two and keeping stuff from me? What happened to Team Free Will? It was supposed to be us three against the world and now_

He didn’t finish the sentence. He let the pad drop from his hand, the pen clattering to the ground next. Sam approached Dean slowly, his hands up in a “don’t shoot” gesture. Cas walked up behind him and bent down to pick up the pen. Sam knelt to gather the notepad and held it out so the two could read it. When they had, Sam pressed the notepad into Dean’s hand, while Cas did the same with the pen. Dean took both reluctantly and Sam crowded in closer. His arms closed around Dean’s shoulders. Cas grabbed at Dean’s waist and before the elder Winchester knew what was happening, both men were hugging him tightly.

“Dean,” Cas replied, “I won’t leave you.”

He pressed his face tighter against Dean’s back and waited for the slow relaxation of the man’s muscles. “Dean,” Sam added, “we’re in this together – until the end.”

 

______

  By the time the three ended up checking out, the rotation had switched. The nurse who had been at the desk before was gone, and had made no mention of the rule she’d bent for the men. As they headed out to the car, Cas asked, “How did you guys get in to see me, anyway?”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he resolutely kept his gaze forward. Sam looked back and forth between the two and replied, “We told the doctors you two were married.”

After shooting his brother a death stare, Dean turned a bright shade of red and ducked into the driver’s seat of the car. Sam settled in beside him and as Cas took the back he responded, “I don’t see how that would help. Marriage equality hasn’t been passed here.”

Dean buckled up, refusing to meet Cas’ gaze in the rear-view mirror. Sam chuckled when Dean turned the radio up loud, drowning out any more of Cas’ potential questions.

  When the three got back to the bunker, Charlie rushed up the stairs to meet them. Kevin emerged from the kitchen holding a beer, which he brought down from his lips as he saw Dean giving him a glare. He broke into a wide smile when he saw Cas tugged down the stairs and met the former angel in a hug. When Dean reached Kevin, he snatched the beer away and drank it, before ruffling the prophet’s hair.

He grabbed Cas’ hand and pulled him along to their bedroom. It had gotten dark on the way back and it had been entirely too long since the two had been together. As he locked the door behind them, he threw the pad onto the bedside table. For this, they wouldn’t need any words. For now, touching was enough.

 

                                                                                      _______________________

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Sam's Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters wallow, some shower sex, and Sam has to come to terms with things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTE = behind-the-ear hearing aid. It's the one that is most common, and is much more noticeable than some of the other styles.
> 
> Again, I hope I don't come off as insensitive to people with hearing impairments.

The days passed slowly after that. Kevin seemed to relax, realizing his translation duties were on hold until everyone decided what their next move was. Charlie watched helplessly as the Winchesters seemed to draw in on themselves, and got no more than a resigned look of disappointment from Cas when she announced she was going back to her apartment. As Cas walked her out, she quipped, “It’s not like I could’ve brought a girl back here anyway. I’ll swing back by soon.” She smiled awkwardly and gave Cas a hug before leaving.

            Cas walked back down the stairs of the bunker and took in the sight: the boys were sitting together at a table, passing notes back and forth while Sam tried to do research. Kevin could barely be made out in the den, watching some old movie as he sprawled out on the couch. When Cas pulled up a chair next to Sam, he glimpsed the last note Dean had written Sam before Sam slammed it close in his book: _You can’t expect everyone around you to learn sign language. Just get the damn hearing aid._

            Sam made a flimsy excuse before getting up and leaving. “Dean,” Cas began, “what’s wrong?”

_Nothing_ , came the unconvincing reply.

Cas stared down at the paper, his lips set in a thin line. “You didn’t see Charlie out – she was hurt by that.”

_She’ll get over it._

“Dean, stop it. Unlike your brother, you’ll be okay in two weeks.”

Dean glared at him and managed to reply reedily, “Fuck. You.”

Cas scoffed, “Not with that attitude.” He realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Dean today. If the man wanted to stew and feel sorry for himself, so be it. Cas could occupy himself otherwise.

He got up from the table, leaving a stunned Dean in his wake. The man’s hurt pride was not his main concern now – mending his family back up was. He wandered the corridors of the bunker until he got to Sam’s room. He knocked on the door, and heard a caught breath. When Sam answered the door, his eyes were faraway and glassy. “Oh… Hi, Cas,” Sam mumbled.

He knew Sam hadn’t been aware he’d actually spoken until Cas replied loudly, “Hey Sam.”

When Cas made a motion to enter his room, Sam shook his head. “I NEED TO BE ALONE RIGHT NOW.”

Cas nodded and waved goodbye, but couldn’t help notice the way Sam’s shoulders rolled forward, his head tucking down when he thought Cas couldn’t see him anymore.

Once he turned Cas away, Sam locked the door to his bedroom and sat back down in front of his laptop. As he pulled the slim computer onto his crossed legs, he clicked open the tab he’d been reading: “Pros and Cons of Hearing Aids”. The site seemed to be geared towards the elderly, which made anger rise up in his throat. _No way._ He’d learn how to deal. Dean was wrong – he’d be _fine_.

Cas went into the kitchen and began to whip up a simple dinner. It wasn’t as fancy or delicious as something Dean would make, but Dean hadn’t wanted to cook lately. In fact, Dean didn’t want to do anything lately except drink beer: he didn’t cook, he didn’t work on “Baby” (except to move the seat back to its original position and give Sam the evil eye for letting Charlie drive it), he didn’t even want to have sex except for that first night back home. Dean wasn’t Dean right now, and it worried Cas just as much Sam did.

When he’d made a plate of sandwiches and a few cups of instant soup, he carried them to the men one by one, leaving Sam’s outside his door. They didn’t eat together without Charlie. It was only as Cas sat on the other end of the library drinking his soup that he realized how lonely the bunker had gotten.

________

A week or so passed and the bunker had become not only lonely, but tense. When Dean wasn’t sleeping, he and Sam were fighting. Cas would come in the kitchen in the morning and the two men would be efficiently ignoring each other. Dean would ask Sam for something and because his throat was still healing, it often sounded weak and low. Sam wouldn’t hear it, couldn’t really hear much of anything besides the TV turned up loud or someone yelling. Dean would take this as a personal offense and then the two would give each other the cold shoulder all day. However, this butting of heads eventually ceased in the worst way possible.

Cas was in the shower, standing under the spray looking down at Dean. Dean was on his knees, the former angel’s cock stuffed in his mouth, nearly gagging him. He had one hand on the base of Cas’ cock and another gently pulling on his balls, causing the other’s legs to shake. He was _so_ close. If Dean just did that thing with his tongue…

“Hello? Anyone in the shower?” Sam called.

The water pressure was high and both men were too distracted to notice the call. A knock came at the door but Cas couldn’t register anything but the lips around his cock. The sound of Cas’ moans and the rush of water past his head deafened Dean to the sound of the door opening. In the next moment, Sam cursed the men of letters for the fog-proof glass doors. The loud profanity was enough to turn Dean’s eyes, his head still stuck at this angle as Cas gripped the back of his hair tight, his release pumping down Dean’s throat. Cas looked up too, Sam’s stunned expression registering before the man turned tail and ran.

He let go of Dean’s hair and pulled back, his spent cock sliding out from between puffy lips. Dean cleared his throat and said, “I’m, uh, not in the mood. Let’s just wash up.” His voice was rough from the act, almost back to the sound Cas had grown to know. As he helped Dean up, he realized how much he’d missed it.

\------

When the two made it out to the hallway, Sam was at the end of the hall, preparing to turn into his room. “HEY!” Dean shouted. His eyes went wide at the pain, but he grit his teeth and stomped towards his brother.

Sam looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and sputtered out, “Dean, I’m – ”

“ENOUGH! No more ‘Dean I’m sorry’ or ‘I didn’t mean to’! This has gone on _long enough!_ ”

Sam’s eyebrows drew up on his forehead, knit in confusion. “You shouldn’t be yelling, Dean…”

“TO HELL I SHOULDN’T! I’m tired of your pig-headed b.s!” He took a deep breath and continued, “Look, I’m sorry if you’re scared or whatever, but this isn’t working. You need a hearing aid. Just bite the bullet and get one already.” He held Sam’s gaze, daring him to look away.

Eventually, in a voice so low _Dean_ could barely hear it, he replied, “You’re right… Okay.”

_________

The next day Sam woke with a pit of dread in his stomach. He moved slowly, as if on autopilot and nodded numbly when Dean asked if he was ready to go. As the Winchesters piled into the impala, they didn’t talk. Sam knew Dean was right, that this is something he needed to do. But he had hoped if he kept putting it off, his hearing would somehow come back. That they’d run into another benevolent angel who would heal him. But it didn’t look like that was in the cards now.

In the exam room of the ear, nose and throat specialist, Sam strummed his fingers against the metal side of the paper-lined bed. Dean sat in the chair near the desktop computer, absentmindedly blowing up a glove when the doctor walked in. The man was a short, balding fellow with an easy smile and a cane. As he stopped between the two, he asked, “Which one of you is my patient today?”

Sam raised his hand sheepishly and the man raised his eyebrows. “Son, could I get you to switch with the other fella? I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach you up there.”

Dean reluctantly switched seats, attempting to hide the glove behind his back. When the doctor noticed the impromptu balloon, he said nothing, only smiled. Turning his attention back to Sam, he asked, “What seems to be the trouble?”

Sam pointed to his ears and said, “My hearing’s pretty shot.”

The doctor nodded, and looked at the chart. “Close range explosion, huh? Military?”

“Uh… No. So, I – I think I need a hearing aid.”

“Well, let’s check your hearing to see how extensive the damage is. But if you do need one, good for you: A lot of people – young and old alike – are too stubborn to admit it. When you expect something to work and suddenly it doesn’t? It’s scary. But don’t worry, Sonny; everything’s going to be fine.”

After a few tests (and the doctor making Dean wait in the waiting room), the doctor finally said, “You’re very lucky to have come when you did. Had your hearing been damaged any further, I would’ve strongly recommended a cochlear. As it is, I am going to prescribe a conventional hearing aid. If it doesn’t help you, you will need to come back to schedule an appointment. Cochlear implants are inserted surgically, and I’m sure you’d have to clear your calendar to take the time off. Please present this downstairs to be fitted for your device.”

Sam half-heartedly thanked the doctor, dragging his feet on the way to the audiology department. Dean noticed the piece of paper in his hand as he crossed the waiting room, his movements sluggish as he barely acknowledged his older brother. When Sam handed the paper to the woman at the desk, along with his insurance card, he was led over to a table with four hearing aid models attached to foam mannequin heads. He sat down in the hard plastic chair, trying to understand all of the medical jargon. It wasn’t until she asked, “Which of these two models would you like?” that he snapped back to attention. He looked at the two heads: from what he could tell, the only difference was color.

“Wait, what? No, I want this one!” Sam gestured to the smallest one on the far right, ignoring the ones she had pointed to on the left. She gave a tight-lipped smile and replied, “I’m sorry, but the mini BTE isn’t strong enough with someone with your particular type of hearing loss. The doctor recommended a standard BTE for that reason…”

“That thing’s huge – everyone will stare at me like I’m some sort of freak!”

The woman cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind an ear, revealing a flesh-toned BTE. Sam’s eyes widened and he apologized profusely until Dean clapped him hard on the shoulder. “I think she’s got it, Sammy.”

He nodded weakly, and pointed to the one with a clear plastic clip. “Fine… That one.”

___________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	15. Without these things, we're nobody...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will has trouble coping with the aftermath of their last battle - some more than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was too long in coming. For that, I apologize. Some stuff has been going on in my life that's taken time away from my writing. I hope to get back on the horse, though.

   Sam didn’t seem to improve much. If anything, from what the others could tell, he slipped further and further away from them…

It’s not like he wasn’t trying: Sam tried to accept that his body had _failed_ him on some fundamental level – and any sensitive, compassionate viewpoints he had seemed to fly out the window.

It was terrifying to think he was one little machine away from helplessness. What if he was on a hunt and something else sonic-boomed the thing into pieces? What if a werewolf tore it from his face?

Despite how much he claimed to want a “normal” life, he wasn’t so sure he could have one now. _Saving people, hunting things. The_ _family business._ It was all he knew anymore, and he had no idea what he would do without it…

Dean sat down next to Sam at the library table and slid a plate over to him: a grilled cheese sandwich. Dean made Sam a grilled cheese whenever he was sick. It usually came with tomato and rice soup, but Sam didn’t feel like eating. Hell, he didn’t feel like existing, if he was honest. Sam looked down at it, at the golden Texas toast and melted cheese and shrugged. He pushed the plate back over to Dean and mumbled, “’m not hungry…”

The elder Winchester stood up, and slammed his hand against the table. “Dammit Sammy, you gotta eat! It’s been four days now, man – _just eat the damn sandwich_!”

He looked down at his younger brother: the man hunched over a book, a curtain of hair covering his face on both sides. An untouched cup of coffee sat in front of him next to a stack of old books. Pieces of paper stuck out from some of the books, labeled in all caps “METATRON.”

So soft Dean just heard it, Sam murmured, “You don’t have to yell anymore. I can hear you now.”

“Dean…” Cas warned. Just because the man could shout without hurting himself now didn’t mean he should. The man looked between the two brothers, torn. He knew Sam was suffering, but Dean’s approach to his brother’s breakdown was, at best, unhelpful.

“Sam: Stop. This. Yeah, you got roughed up by that angel – so did we. _I_ sound like I went through reverse puberty and _Cas_ can’t catch anything with both hands below fifty degrees now. It sucks, but we’re still alive. When I was lying on that church floor, you know what I thought?”

“…What?”                                 

“I thought about something Cas had read to me the week before: _‘Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light’_.”

“Huh?”

“It’s by some guy named Dylan Thomas, and it’s about fighting death. I thought about how I had ‘raged’ for your guys’ safety, and I just… I don’t know. It felt _right_.”

Sam and Cas both started from the admission, and their eyes went soft. Cas’ lips curled into a sad smile. Sam pulled the plate back and took a bite out of the sandwich.

__________

Cas lay back against his own bed later that night, staring up at his outstretched arm. He moved the fingers, feeling the tension run along his muscles until it reached a familiar burning at his bicep. He let his arm flop against the bed, his fingers tingling. Pain radiated down the back of his hand and he sat up, lost in thought. He felt a terrible swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and a lump grew in his throat, fearing the worst.

_How would he tell Dean that their job wasn’t done?_

Dean was in the den, watching TV with Kevin. The young prophet didn’t seem to mind the “Dr. Sexy” marathon, or the stewing, drunken man beside him. Not a word passed between the two, but each could feel the tension dissipating in the air. As Kevin munched popcorn and Dean sipped his beer, an understanding passed between them: this – this mild, familiar sort of life – was _possible_ now. And they each breathed a sigh of relief they hadn’t known they’d been holding.

____

The next afternoon Dean sat in the impala cursing. What was Sam's problem anyway? Unlike Dean, it wasn’t like _he_ sounded too young to buy smokes. Time had made him sound commanding, ruthless and now he was – well, he was a joke. He’d spent his whole goddamn life convincing people he wasn't just a pretty face, trying to prove he should be taken seriously. And now, now –

_“God dammit!”_

His fists balled up against his thighs and his eyes became glassy. He’d spent the last half hour trying to sing along to “Enter Sandman” but each time he ended up hitting the steering wheel in frustration. His voice sounded too high even to his own ears, and it twisted like a knife in his chest to know his real voice was even higher.

If Dean had been able to step back from the situation, he would’ve realized this was how he sounded when he was twenty-six. But… he couldn’t. Every part of him had to resist the urge to drive baby to a bar and find some floozy to cozy up with. Dean grit his teeth and pounded on the steering wheel once more. He was a _man_ , dammit, and he was going to prove it…

The door to Castiel’s bedroom burst open with a loud bang and Cas looked up to see Dean looming in the doorway, his chest heaving. The blonde shrugged out of his flannel, a resolute gleam in his eyes; Cas couldn’t look away. “Dean?” Cas asked as the man strode into the room.

Dean didn’t say anything, just pulled his T-shirt off by the scruff. He reached the foot of Cas’ bed and crawled over to him, his eyes traveling up and down Cas’ body.

_No,_ he thought, as he stared at the man in front of him, _I don’t want a woman._ A woman he’d have to schmooze, seduce. Cas wouldn’t feel so soft and delicate under him, but he _would_ just bend over and take it. Cas always took it so beautifully. He liked to be fucked and he’d let Dean without Dean having to make bullshit promises or aroused entreaties to him. He’d let Dean be in control. And that … that was better.

He let his eyes linger on Cas’ lips, thinking about them wrapped around his cock, and a pulse of want traveled through him. Dean closed in, his hand rubbing at the swell in Cas’ jeans and rushed up to kiss his neck. Cas let out a soft moan, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean captured his mouth in a needy kiss. One hand raked through Cas’ hair, giving it a small tug as the other undid the fly of his jeans. Dean forced his tongue into Cas’ mouth, his hand shoving into Cas’ underwear. As he shuddered, Cas’ eyes fluttered open. The door to his room was still wide open.

“Dean!” Cas pulled back.                             

“What?” Jeez, what was it now?

“The door’s open. Sam could see us.”

“Let him. Maybe he’ll learn something.”

“Dean…” He knew the blonde let his hormones sway him and despite what he said, privacy seemed to be paramount. Something was off, but he didn’t know what.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” Dean got up and closed the door tight, before locking it. He unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to a heap around his feet. He crawled back onto the bed and moved his hands down Cas’ skin, nails raking little pink lines down his sides. His fingers gripped his pants before pulling them off with a harsh yank. Cas kissed along Dean’s neck in return, gripping Dean’s hips hard before sucking a bruise into the crook of his neck. A soft, high moan left Dean’s lips before he could stop it, and the sound drove Cas crazy. Cas gripped the other man’s arms and flipped them, pulling off Dean’s boxers. Dean’s heart raced, a small tremor running through him when Cas’ fingertip stroked at his puckered hole. The feeling instinctively made him ache with want. Then his eyes darkened and shame colored his cheeks. He flipped them back over and groped blindly for the nightstand drawer. He pulled out the lube and divested Cas of his underwear before the other had time to react.

Cas felt his knees pushed up, a slick finger circling his hole. “Dean…” Cas began.

Dean breached the tight furl of muscle and replied, “Shhh, Cas. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby…”

Cas wanted to be the one in _Dean’s_ tight, slick hole but as Dean stroked against his prostate, he supposed this would work too. He worked a finger and then another into Cas, drawing a surprised groan from the man. Dean brushed his lips across Cas’ earlobe and intoned, “Gonna pin you to the bed, angel, and fill you up with my cock…”

Cas’ feelings were mixed at the endearment, but he found himself moaning against the pillow, the slip of the two fingers inside of him causing shivers to race up and down his spine. He gripped the pillow around his head tight, breathing in Dean’s scent as the man opened him up with brutal efficiency. When a third finger breached Cas’ hole, he clenched up tight. A breath was punched from his lungs, the stretch suddenly painful. Cas reached down, halting Dean’s hand. “Slow down, Dean.”

“Can’t… Need to be in you,” Dean breathed out against his neck. Cas let his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes meeting Dean’s.

“It hurts,” Cas replied.

Dean froze and then gingerly removed his fingers. He nodded and relubed again before easing two back in, teasing his rim with the other. “Better?” Dean asked his gaze tense.

Cas nodded and settled his body against the bed, letting his muscles go lax as Dean continued his ministrations. It still felt uncomfortable when Dean finally worked the third finger back in, but Cas could handle it. Dean brushed Cas’ prostate for a few minutes and withdrew. As he lubed up his achingly- hard cock, he let out a small shudder.

He took a deep breath to ready himself, but nothing could have prepared Cas for the way Dean thrust in all at once. Dean did afford him a few seconds to adjust, but if he noticed Cas’ discomfort, he didn’t show it.

He wrapped Cas’ legs around him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear: “You feel so fucking good, Cas… Such a pretty, greedy hole…” Dean groaned against Cas’ shoulder when he felt Cas’ cock twitch between their stomachs. He encircled Cas’ wrists and pinned them to the bed. “You want it so bad, don’tcha Cas?”

Cas could only nod in return, this blinding lust hitting them so suddenly. Dean tightened his grip around Cas’ wrists, burying his face in Cas’ neck. “Come on Cas, take that cock. You like it, don’t you?”

Dean was slamming his hips against Cas’ ass by this point, hitting him hard and deep. He left little bites on Cas’ skin, angling his hips to stroke against Cas’ prostate. Cas felt a shudder go through him at the contact, trying to get his arms free to grip Dean’s hipbones, to slow him down. It felt good, but at this rate it was going to be over too fast. Dean released his grip but when Cas’ fingers dug into his skin, Dean looked up from the crook of Cas’ neck, their eyes meeting briefly. Cas eyes widened at the anxious look pinching Dean’s face. Dean looked away, his lips skimming over the shell of Cas’ other ear. “Gonna fill you up, make you cum on my cock… Gonna ruin you for other men, baby…”

Before Cas had the opportunity to wonder what that might mean, Cas heard Dean utter a moan. It was the softest, sweetest moan in a cacophony of pants and groans, but Cas heard it. And with the attention Dean was paying to that spot inside of him, that was impressive in and of itself. Dean gripped Cas’ cheeks hard, the action forcing him to open up wider. Cas felt himself begin to clench around Dean, felt himself spilling between their stomachs as the slickened head of his dick pushed fervently against Dean’s skin. He was reduced to mewling noises as his vision whited out.

Dean pumped his hips one last time and came inside Cas, shuddering and cursing into the crook of Cas’ neck. He panted against the moist skin there, spent. When he finally pulled out, Cas’ stunned gaze met his.

“Dean…” he began, not knowing what to make of what had just happened.

“It was good, right?” Dean asked, trying to joke his way out of a serious talk. _Not_ _now_ , he thought. He needed to make a BLT and show off his sex hair to his brother. Prove he still had it. He might not be able to dangle some chick’s panties in front of his face, but he could make it clear that he was still big man on campus. That he should be taken seriously, admired…

“Your coital skills are not lacking,” Cas hedged. Maybe the man just needed encouragement. “The sounds you make lately, especially… ‘do it for me,’” he replied lasciviously.

The compliment didn’t seem to have the desired effect: Dean blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can always give you more dirty talk,” Dean responded, attempting to change the subject.

“No, I mean the moans… They make me want to fuck you _so_ bad,” Cas answered.

“Yeah, well… I don’t think that’s in the cards right now.”

Cas understood this idiom and didn’t care for it. “Why not?”

“Cas, just… drop it. I’m really tired, we can talk about this later.”

“But –”

“I said drop it, Cas! Jesus Christ.”

Dean turned his back to the man and switched off the lamp, shrouding them in darkness. Cas just sat there, mystified.

______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)


	16. Same Song, Different Chorus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas talk. Dean's clueless.

“Sam, I’ve been through your research,” Cas began.

“Yeah, so?..” He slowly closed the dusty tome he was reading, turning the worn book over in his hands. The younger Winchester somehow managed to look small, slouched down in his chair. He ran his pointer and index finger over the spine absently, feeling the smooth leather.

“I believe Metatron can be defeated,” he finished earnestly.

“Y-you sure?” Sam didn’t want to believe it, to allow himself that hope. So many things that the former-angel had had full confidence in--had believed with all his heart--had turned out to be lies. He was too trusting, after all this time … he still had too much faith.

Cas reached past him, failing to notice the way Sam flinched when his arm moved past the man’s ear. He picked up a large book, splaying it open to the scrap of paper Sam had used to mark the page. Without a word, he continued the process until all the books on the table were open to Sam’s bookmarks.

“Don’t you see? It’s all here!” Cas gestured to the books impatiently, as if seeing them all at once should trigger some sort of “eureka!” moment for him. It didn’t.

Sam turned and faced Cas directly, his eyebrows drawn in confusion. “ _What’s_ all here?”

“The scribe of God can be weakened, and defeated as any other angel. Obtaining the ingredients will be difficult now that I’m –” Cas stopped, and cleared his throat.

His eyes shimmered with sadness for a moment before his mouth hardened into a thin line and he continued on. “Well, being human never seemed to stop you and your brother…”

He squared his shoulders and hardened his jaw, not wanting to appear weak to the man. With a nod more to himself than to Sam, he continued, “It can be done. The spell is an old one, and complex, but with careful planning, we need not involve witches. We’ll need to be ready once we’ve zeroed in on his location…”

“Cas, slow down. You’re missing a lot of intermediate steps here. What spell? How? And couldn’t we just do a location spell?”

“Doubtful. He will have warded himself against something like that.” He took a breath. “There is a spell here that I pieced together from your translation. It’s in Latin, but it was imperfectly translated from Enochian originally. That’s why it didn’t make any sense at first.”

“Okay, but how can he be weakened? I’m still lost.”

“The scribe of God is a higher tier angel than most of the rest of us – the rest of them. The ones that are left. He can be moved to a different power sphere, where his abilities will be much weaker and more predictable.”

“So it’s like he’ll be downgraded.”

“Yes, exactly. If we can bring him down to warrior class – the lowest we could hope to go, although not nearly the lowest there is – he will be in unfamiliar territory. And my experience will overpower any knowledge he may have.”

Sam nodded, somber. Both were quiet for a long time until Sam asked, “Cas, are you _sure_ about this?”

“It’s a long shot, but it’s something.”

Sam finally dropped the book in his hands, his fidgeting becoming more noticeable. “But, what about Dean?”

Cas cocked his head at Sam, his eyes widening. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t this… the ‘family business’?”

Sam ducked his head, refusing to answer. This wasn’t about saving people, or even hunting things. Metatron was a blight to humanity but more than that… He’d taken too much from the Winchesters already. Sam looked off into the distance and swallowed, trying to control the rage that was bubbling up inside of him. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his voice went low as he asked, “What do we need?”

______________

When Dean walked into the library with a plate of sandwiches later that afternoon, Sam and Cas stopped mid-sentence. Each watched the elder Winchester, trying to discern what he knew, if anything. Dean shoved the plate into the middle of the table and asked, “Throwing me a surprise party?”

He chuckled but threw a pointed look at Sam. Sam threw his hands up in mock defense. “You got us.” Dean reached over, giving both men a playful clap on the shoulder before leaving the room.

“I think we should talk about something else for now,” Sam advised.

Cas nodded absently and eventually asked, “What does ‘I’ll ruin you for other men’ mean?”

Sam nearly spit out the water he was drinking and slowly lowered the bottle to the table. He coughed and sputtered before asking, “What?”

Cas was unfazed by Sam’s reaction and pressed on. “What does that phrase mean? Every time I try to search the internet, a bunch of pornography pops up.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and looked up at the perplexed man. “Well, it _is_ a sex thing, Cas.”

“It is?”

Sam turned in the chair to face Cas, and raked his fingers through his hair with one hand. “Yeah… heh. Um, it’s some stupid macho thing guys say to women. Basically it means their dick is so big that no woman’s uh, parts, will be the same after. It’s not the kind of thing you’d want to say during sex. Kind of demeaning, you know…”

Cas looked up and off to the side, lost in thought. “I see.”

“Why are you asking this anyway?” Sam’s hand tentatively crept towards his water bottle, not trusting himself to take another drink yet.

“Dean said that to me last night, when he was-”

“Yep okay, got it,” Sam cut in. He cleared his throat. “That’s… really weird.”

Cas nodded, his features honest and open as he replied, “I certainly thought so.”

“But you’re probably used to his macho posturing by now,” Sam tacked on, pulling the water bottle closer.

Cas cocked his head, his eyebrows knit in confusion. “He hasn’t done that for months. He even let me –”

“Let you what?” Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, but it could be important.

“I – I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” Cas hedged, looking nervously to the empty doorway.

“Why not?” Sam had to admit he was curious.

“Dean said I’m not supposed to discuss our sex life with you. It might be ‘awkward’,” he finished with air quotes.

“Cas, it’s _been_ awkward. So what?” Okay, so Sam was going to hell for this. Again.

“He… he let me fuck him. But I tried to last night and he flipped out on me.” Cas stared at Sam, as if he might have some explanation for all of this.

“…Wow. _Really_?” Sam was so surprised by the news that he couldn’t do anything but side-eye Cas.

“Is it so hard to believe?” Cas asked.

“No, I mean… well, yeah,” Sam amended. “Dean is so caught up trying to makes sure everyone knows what a big, strong dude he is and well… Sorry man, I just thought you’d always be the catcher.”

“Your appraisal of your brother is somewhat perplexing…” The Winchesters were big on totality statements: “Always,” “never,” “ever”… It didn’t make much sense to the former-angel.

“Growing up, it was always the “yes sir, no sir, chin up soldier” crap from my dad. Dean got the worst of it, so yeah; maybe I’m a little biased,” Sam explained.

“I’m starting to understand this part of the human condition, to paint people in generalities. But it isn’t fair to them, is it?”

Sam chuckled low and replied, “No, guess we’re just lazy.”

“For the record,” Cas added, “I am extremely virile.”

“Okay Cas,” Sam replied, using that as his cue to leave the room.

__________________

“Kevin, we need your help,” Sam entreated.

“Does Dean know about this?” Kevin asked, looking between Sam and Cas with suspicion.

“Think of how many people have died because of Metatron,” Cas interjected.

“Or how many people we’ll save!” Sam added.

“But why me? I thought my job was this dumb tablet?” As if to illustrate, he held the thing up.

“We need to get the ingredients in shifts. If we _all_ just disappear, Dean will know something’s up.”

_“If this is such a great and noble thing we’re doing, why are we keeping it a secret from Dean?"_

The kid had a point, but each man had a different answer: Kevin thought, ‘he doesn’t want to fight,’ while Sam thought, ‘He’s feeling too sorry for himself to do what needs to be done.’

Lastly, Cas just thought, ‘He can’t fight – I owe him too much already…’

Dean sauntered into the living room as the men stood pensively glaring at each other. “Got a call from Charlie. Low-level witch in Santa Fe, making weird ass potions so people hallucinate Kokopelli. You in?”

Sam and Cas locked gazes and Cas shook his head. “I’m sorry Dean.”

Dean looked hurt for a second before turning to his brother. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded, giving a small wave to the others. “I’m in.”

“Okay,” Dean said, clapping his hands, “five minutes.”

______________

Dean packed his duffle on their shared bed, while Cas just watched. “So why can’t you come?” Dean asked, trying to keep the neediness out of his voice.

“There are things I must attend to here. Research, for one.”

“You can do research anywhere. Sam is proof of that.”

“Kevin is still a prophet of the Lord. He is our charge, and must be protected.”

“Then bring him,” Dean shrugged.

“That would be impractical.”

Dean sighed. Cas must still be mad at him for the other night. “Okay, fine.”

He held up his phone and zipped his duffel close. “Sext me if you get bored,” he said, and picked up the bag.

“Dean I still don’t understand what the purpose of –” Before he had a chance to answer, Dean’s lips were on his. The kiss was sweet and chaste and Dean patted his cheek reassuringly.

“See you soon, Cas,” he replied and walked through the door.

Cas waited until he heard the sound of the impala’s engine roaring to life before he walked to the living room. He opened the folded sheet of paper in his pocket and looked down at the ingredients list. It was going to be a long weekend.

_____________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Breaking Bad and Bumps in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sam and Dean head to Santa Fe for a case, Cas tracks down some of the ingredients for a spell.

   Cas stood in the library, staring down at the charred bone fragments in front of him. That was one ingredient down, five to go. He knew that the ingredients would be difficult to find. He already had the bone of a lesser saint, but how to get Nephilim tears? Actually, that was doable… if unpleasant. But opium? Ectoplasm? Shifter skin, or a wraith’s spike? These would be nearly impossible to acquire.

   He didn’t relish the thought of hunting alone, or dealing with unscrupulous witches to obtain the necessary ingredients. And although it would make the work go faster, he knew better than to involve Kevin. The young prophet had already sacrificed so much, for the men to come up with so little.

                                                  No. He would have to go it alone.

                                       ---

   Cas’ breath was punched out of his chest by frigid air, the knife hilt heavy in his hand. An owl hooted in the distance, its cry punctuating the too-silent night. He felt icy grass crunch underfoot as he came closer to the figure before him. The thing that had spent the night parading as a man let the glamour fade, its true face snarling back at Castiel. Cas advanced, closing the space between the two. With a strength the monster’s sickly body shouldn’t have possessed so long after feeding, it struck Cas’ chest, sending him staggering backwards. Cas planted his feet as the thing moved closer, and furrowed his brow. As it lunged for him, Cas struck, sinking the knife deep into its chest.

   The figure screeched in pain, the silver weakening it as it brought the jutting spike in its wrist closer to Cas’ face. Cas’ fist connected with its jaw, the blow causing it to step back. He pulled the knife from its chest, brandishing the blade confidently. The thing knocked the blade from his hand and lunged again, this time tackling Cas to the ground. Cas squirmed to avoid its touch and he punched its decomposing face with everything he had. The former angel rolled in on himself, kicking the monster away as it reeled. He found the knife in the dirt, and regained his footing swiftly. He threw the blade, and it doubled over as the weapon sank into the monster’s stomach with a sickening squelch. Its hands shook as it tried to remove the blade, the silver handle blistering its skin upon contact. Cas stopped in front of it, his eyes cold. As the creature looked up defiantly, a kick connected with its jaw. The figure sprawled onto its back against the frozen earth, the skin from its palms fused to the hilt of the knife as force tore them away. Cas stood over the thing, the heel of his boot contacting the exposed spike. It broke with a loud crack and the thing screamed. He reached down and yanked the knife out, slitting the creature’s neck.

   Blood bubbled out of the gash as it growled, “You’ll pay for this…”

   Face impassive, Cas sliced and hacked with the obviously too-small blade until its head lay on the ground next to its body. For good measure, Cas stabbed it in the heart. He broke off the other spike as well and wrapped them both in some fabric he cut from the thing’s shirt. The wraith was dead. Cas began to shamble his way back to his newly-stolen car.

   Cas drove for hours that night, only reaching the bunker by sunrise. He gripped the railing tight once inside, his muscles burning as he made his way down the steps. Kevin emerged from the doorway he was hidden behind, lowering the baseball bat in his hand when he saw the former angel. It clattered to the floor as he rushed to the man’s side.

   “Oh my God… Cas? What the hell happened to you?!”

   He tried to answer, but now that the adrenaline of the night had worn off, he could barely speak. Kevin helped Cas over to the couch and arranged him on it gingerly. Cas sighed in relief and managed to thank the young prophet before passing out from exhaustion.

     Several hours later, Cas was being shook impatiently awake. “Cas!”

   “ _MUDU!_ ” Kevin shouted excitedly, as if that should mean something to him.

   “Murder? Wha-”

   He held the tablet in one hand, gesturing frantically to it with the other. Kevin’s nose was bleeding but he seemed unconcerned by it as Cas leaned forward to peer at the tablet. A single word was glowing a faint red.

   “Mudu is the Sumerian word for ‘one who knows’,” Kevin began. “It’s about _Metatron_!”

   Cas’ eyes widened and he sat up on the couch, now fully awake.

   “I kept getting tripped up on this word, because who the hell codes something further after writing it in an unreadable language? I was sitting in the library, trying to decipher this paragraph when my nose started bleeding. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m a prophet or what, but the word started glowing and I just knew it had to be something! I managed to translate something under it too, something about his need to ‘chase the word’, whatever that means.”

   “Kevin,” he replied awestruck, “that’s… we might _actually_ have a chance.”

   Revitalized by the knowledge that they could get somewhere with this, Cas bolted up from the couch, towards the cache of ingredients. When he reached the dusty, abandoned room, he pulled the wraith spikes from his coat pocket, carefully hiding them with the bones. He unfolded the sheet of paper, reading the list to himself again. He pulled out his phone and typed Sam a quick message before locking the room tightly behind him.  

 

        He felt the phone buzz in his pocket, and fished it out of his jeans.

_Research ghost sightings, angry._

     Sam typed a quick reply before looking up at his brother, who was pacing the room like a caged animal.

   “Man, I hate witches!” Dean exclaimed, pausing in his pacing only long enough to get another beer.

   “Hallucinating Native American trickster characters is pretty mild, if you ask me,” Sam countered. “I mean, it’s not like we have to fight the real trickster or anything…”

   “This bitch is fucking with people just because she can! We gotta do something, Sammy.”

   “Dean, we’ve been driving almost non-stop all day. It’s after midnight – we can ask around tomorrow.”

   He knew that his brother was right, but he just felt so restless. Maybe it was the way he and Cas had left things. Maybe it was because he still felt he had something to prove. Or maybe it was just because he hated goddamn witches.

   “All right, but if there’s a basement, you go in first. Every time I see some poor bunny or something flayed on an altar, I almost puke.”

   Sam sighed, and nodded. That shit broke his heart too – the last one had been a _dog_. What kind of monster would do something like that to man’s best friend? He shook the thought from his head and hunkered down to sleep.

   The next morning, they hit the street: Dean threatened every head shop owner they ran across until finally getting a lead. The witch was named Clara Murphy, and she worked in a small fortune-telling shop just outside of town. The boys decided to stop for some grub before staking out her place. Dean decided to let Sam drive so he could put away his second green chile and chicken burrito.

   “Oh man, this stuff is so fucking good,” Dean raved, making a positively sexual sound as he took another bite of the burrito.

   Dean took food way too seriously. Sam tried not to look disgusted as Dean ate, forcing himself to focus on the road. After narrowly missing a few massive tumbleweeds, they finally pulled up to the dirt parking lot of the shop.  Dean finished his burrito and looked around: despite the secluded nature of the place, business was booming. He couldn’t help but notice that that the parking lot was nearly full. A large sign was displayed above the small building, the image of a Zia imposed on a crystal ball. In smaller type underneath the image was simply the word “Fortunes”. Sam and Dean exited the car only to be approached by a slim, leathery-skinned woman holding a lit cigarette.

   She gestured to the car, asking Sam “Is this beauty going to be in the car show on Saturday?”

   Dean cut in, “What car show?”

   The woman scoffed, taking a drag of her cigarette. “You’re joking, right? The Owl classic car show,” she clarified, walking around the impala. “It’s down in Albuquerque though, so you’re a bit out of the way…”

   She tucked a sheet of dark hair behind her ear to get a closer look. “Hey,” she started, addressing Sam, “is she for sale?”

   Dean balked, and responded indignantly, “Baby is _mine_ , and she’ll _never_ be for sale. I’d rather be buried with her than let a stranger drive her.”

   “Yours? Huh, bummer. I was hoping tall, dark and handsome and I could work something out.” As if the meaning wasn’t already dripping from her words, she gave Sam a wink.

   Sam straightened up, a grin coming over his face. He cleared his throat and decided to change the subject; “Are you Clara?” He gestured to the sign behind her.

   The woman took a long drag off her cigarette, considering him before answering, “Clara’s inside. A bunch of granola types are having a séance, last I saw.”

   The woman spoke with a disdain for the aforementioned granola types, and Dean felt himself cracking a smile. “Santa Fe’s really gone downhill since all these rich folks took it over, with their stupid hot yoga and quinoa... Don’t they get that it’s _all_ hot yoga up here? Can’t even buy a bag of crystals without laying down a hundred lately.”

   “Crystals?” Sam asked, wondering if the woman was really talking about drugs so freely. I mean, he’d seen “Breaking Bad,” but the woman was in her late forties and they were wearing suits… seems like she’d know better.

   “Yeah, like quartz and snowflake obsidian, that kinda stuff. When you live in a desert, your decorative options are limited. The xeriscaping is bad enough, but even houseplants aren’t worth it. Well, unless I want a cactus, but my dog would probably try to eat it. Dumbass dog…” She spoke with an unusual brashness that suddenly made Dean want to have a beer with her.  

   She stamped out her cigarette and continued, “But if you guys want Clara, it’ll be awhile. That séance just started twenty minutes ago. Ya hunks want a coke?” She gestured to the cooler on the ground behind her, and gestured for them to follow.

   The boys shrugged, already feeling the heat of midday beating down upon them. She plunged her hand into the icy water, pulling up a couple cans of 7up. The boys took the proffered cans gratefully, Dean slamming his before cursing under his breath at the headache he’d caused himself. Sam handed his can to Dean to shrug off his jacket, noticing the woman eyeing him. He rolled up his sleeves and then asked for the soda back. “Aww, don’t stop on my account,” the woman teased. Sam felt a blush creep up his cheeks and Dean gave him a teasing smile. Well, long as they were here, they might as well ask the woman what she knew…

 

   Cas ditched the car in an alleyway, and tucked the handgun into the waistband of his slacks. He’d packed silver bullets this time; decapitation worked for many monsters, but with only one of his hands at full strength, it was getting too difficult to do alone. His last hunt had proved that. His body still ached from the wraith fight, but he needed to get as many ingredients as he could before Dean got back. He didn’t know how he’d explain all the cuts and bruises to him, though…

   He shook his head and turned into a nearby diner. After ordering a cup of coffee, he pulled up the news stories on his phone: man implicated in murder across town despite being in the hospital to witness the birth of his first child. A woman accused of a hit and run who was in a coma at the time of the accident. Another man was seen robbing a jewelry store, even though he was coaching a little league game that afternoon. Yes, there was a shapeshifter in this town, he was sure of it. As he downed his second cup of coffee, the harried waitress asked him if he’d like to order lunch. He asked for a burger and fries, before swallowing more of the dark liquid down.

   After eating, Cas began the short walk from the diner to the local police station. He ran his fingers over the fake FBI badge in his jacket pocket before reaching into his pants for his cell phone. He had felt it buzz, and hoped it was Sam getting back to him with some new information on hauntings. But it was Dean.

   It was… a picture of a burrito. Just a picture of a burrito, no accompanying text. Cas was thoroughly mystified. He pocketed his phone as he stopped in front of the building.

 

   Dean leaned against the side of the stucco building, cursing himself for leaving his sunglasses back at the bunker. He turned to the woman next to him and took a sip of his second “coke” – a Fanta. “Charla, how long do these things usually run?”

   Charla and the boys had been waiting for a few hours now at this point, and the hippies inside showed no signs of wrapping it up. “Not this long,” she replied, then added, “those folks must be bleedin’ money.”

   Sam huffed out a breath, trying to ignore her lascivious stare as he unbuttoned his shirt, stripping down to his undershirt. “Isn’t it like thirty degrees back home?”

   By this time, Dean was also down to the t-shirt he always wore under button downs, but he’d been pounding sodas. Sam insisted the sugar was getting to him and had to choose between sharing a bottle of water with a chain smoker or stripping down – but he was running out of clothes fast.

   “More like fifty, ya baby,” Dean replied, eyes fixated on the clouds gathering in the sky.

   “You two might wanna stay under the awning – looks like we’re starting Monsoon season.” Almost as if on cue, a heavy sheet of rain began to pour from the sky. It fell hard and fast, and Dean was thankful he’d rolled up all the windows to the impala. The three stood watching the rain for the next ten minutes, before it just as abruptly stopped. Dean watched as the clouds dissipated and the sun began to shine brightly once more.

   She took in the confused looks and explained, “This is pretty much the only way we get rain. Better than nothin’.”

   “Is it like this every day?” Sam asked, genuinely interested in the unusual phenomenon.

   “Nah, only the summer really. We get a bit in winter too, but I think it’s been… twenty years since we had a full day of rain?”

   “Damn,” Dean responded, before switching subjects. “So, what do you think of Clara – she legit?”

   “Why, you two need some sort of love spell? I was hoping I’d found a few fellow mineral enthusiasts.”

   Dean blanched at the implication, but Sam just laughed it off. “Um, we’re brothers,” Sam acknowledged and Charla broke out into a deep chuckle.

   “Well, that explains it then. You two fight like an old married couple,” she exclaimed, her deep brown eyes shining from laughter. After she recovered from her fit, she added, “But for a witch, she seems to know her shit. Seems a little dark to me, but what do I know?”

   The heavy screen door banged open, and half a dozen Coachella rejects wandered out. The boys thanked Charla for the soda and against his better judgment, Sam handed her one of his fake business cards. They quickly redressed and made their way into the small, smoky shop.

 

   Cas reviewed the case files in the small negotiation room, taking pictures as discreetly as possible. He finished quickly and left the precinct, not wanting to spend any longer than necessary there on the heels of the felony he’d just committed. He typed the address into his phone and realized one of the three suspects lived nearby.

   As Cas stood on the porch ringing the doorbell, he heard loud barking from behind the door. He could see a sedan in the driveway out of the corner of his eye and sighed, opting to knock this time. The front door swung open a minute later and a man asked, “Lemme guess – you’ve been trying the buzzer for five minutes?”

   “How did you-”

   “It’s busted. Wife says it’s ‘tacky’ to put up a sign, and like hell I’m going to pay a repairman.”

   A large dog had been trying to nose around the man’s legs to get at Castiel, but stopped barking when the two made eye contact. Cas looked back up at the man and flashed his badge. “Agent Harrison, FBI. Are you Michael Jones?”

   The man nodded and asked, “Hey, what’s this about? Did something happen to Sarah?”

   Cas shook his head, and asked, “Do you mind if I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

   Mr. Jones nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. He gestured for Cas to follow him, the dog trotting happily beside him. “Would you like something to drink, Agent…”

   “Harrison,” Cas replied, and graciously accepted a can of coke from the man’s outstretched hand.

   They sat down at the table and without missing a beat, Michael asked, “This is about the robbery, isn’t it?”

   Cas nodded, taking a sip of the cold soft drink to collect himself. “What can you tell me about what happened that afternoon?”

   “I don’t understand why the FBI is wasting their time with this. I already gave a statement to the cops.”

   “Please,” Cas entreated, “this is part of a larger investigation. Anything you could tell me about the incident would be extremely helpful.”

   “Well, just like I told the cops. It was three days ago, and I was coaching at my daughter’s little league game. Must’ve been a hundred people there that saw me. I didn’t leave the field for a minute. The game started at three thirty and ended at five thirty. I can call up a dozen parents if you don’t believe me.”

   “Mr. Jones, I’m just constructing a timeline. We have no reason to suspect your testimony at this time.”

   He seemed to relax in his chair at the news and continued, “The police said a man matching my description exactly held up Brooke’s Jewelry Store at four fifteen that same day. But I think it must be some kind of mistake. Maybe the owner of the store misremembered or maybe the sketch artist down at the station wasn’t that good. Hell, I don’t know. I’m an average-looking guy.”

   And it was true, Mr. Jones was rather unremarkable and generic-looking: the man had short brown hair, thick eyebrows, and hazel eyes. His skin was ruddy, and he had several wrinkles from squinting against bright sunlight. He was only about 5’10” and was neither underweight nor overweight. Cas could see how the police could have mistaken him for someone else.

   “And just to clarify, do you have any similar-looking relatives? A brother, or cousin?”

   “I’m an only child, and so are both of my parents. But I could probably name ten other people that sketch could be.”

   “Uh yes, I’ll want those names,” Cas responded. “But Mr. Jones, can you tell me if you’ve met anyone new recently, or seen anything strange?”

   “Strange how?”

   “For example, something you would have a tough time explaining to another. Something that didn’t make sense or that just seemed… off.”

   “No, but –” he stopped, suddenly lost in thought. “I have a new mailman, if that counts?”

   “Did he introduce himself?”

   “No, but his shirt said Steve, I think.”

   Cas stood and thanked the man for his time. Mr. Jones opened the front door to escort Cas out and shook his hand, taking the offered business card. He took out his phone and saw another message from Dean that just said Hey. Cas replied, asking about the case before he caught a nearby bus to the other side of town. That coma patient wasn’t going to check on herself.   

 

   Sam and Dean left the shop to get dinner, knowing they had another few hours until the witch was set to close. Dean pounded back a stuffed sopapilla, while Sam picked at a chicken Caesar salad, trying to ignore the enthusiasm with which Dean went after his meal. “You okay Sammy?” Dean asked, mouth half-full.

   “What is with you and the food here? You’re hovering it in like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

   “It’s just so _good_ Sammy! I had no idea what I was missing, seriously.” As if to illustrate his point, Dean flagged the waitress down and ordered a burrito to go.

   “Red, green, or Christmas?” she asked with a look of pure boredom. She probably asked the question a hundred times a day.

   “What’s… Christmas?” Dean asked, feeling like he had to be missing something.

   “Red and green, mixed together,” she replied in the same perfunctory tone.

   “YES! That,” Dean confirmed, his eyes lighting up.

   The waitress left and Sam asked, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to eat this much before a hunt? We’ll probably have to run at some point.”

   Dean just scowled at his brother, before picking up a squeeze bottle that seemed to be filled with honey. He squirted a bit onto his fingertip and licked it. It was honey! Or something like it, at least. It seemed much lighter than honey and was at least three times sweeter. When the waitress brought the check and boxed burrito, Dean asked, “Hey, excuse me – what is this stuff? Is it for tea?” He held up the bottle and the waitress laughed.

   “You’re kidding, right? It’s sopapilla syrup. I mean, you just ordered a sopapilla sir, I figured you knew.”

   “Wait – why would I put sweet stuff on a square burrito?”

   “Because it’s delicious,” she replied, and took Dean’s empty plate from him. She walked away, shaking her head slightly to herself.

_Tourists_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, everyone! Please leave me a comment with any thoughts you might have. Thank you so much for your support!


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